Fault Lines
by ShadowMayne
Summary: At the beginning of sixth year the Malfoys betray Voldemort, Draco needs Harry's help to survive. What they don't realise is how much Harry needs Draco's to do the same. Battle lines are drawn. Fault lines crack the surface. The world isn't black and white, Potter, so why do you think wizards are light and dark? DM/HP slash. Alternative Year 6.
1. The Unexpected

**Fault Lines**

_Summary_: The word isn't black and white, Potter, so why do you think wizards are light and dark? Battle lines are drawn. Fault lines crack the surface. DM/HP slash.

_Extended Summary_: Draco and Harry are trying to find their own way in a war one can't win and the other doesn't understand. Battle lines are drawn but then they blur. "The world can't be defined as black and white, Potter. So why did you think wizards could be slotted into light and dark?" The war is starting, but all the training in the world can't prepare them for assassination attempts, plots, survivor's guilt and a forbidden romance. They're not ready to give up. Not yet. When light and dark clash, shades of grey colour the sky, enemies look like friends and suddenly right and wrong don't feel so different.

_Warnings_: eventual Slash – trying to make it believable, Dumbledore is a (well-meaning) manipulative old bat, character death, some dark themes (some happy ones too), angst, romance, AU, sexual themes (nothing explicit), language will be no worse than in the movies. MAY CONTAIN SPELLING/GRAMMAR ERRORS! Warnings may be updated.

_Disclaimer_: I don't own Harry Potter. It makes me sad.

Set after Fifth Year.

**Chapter One: The Unexpected**

It was hopeless. His fingers shook a little bit, the knife almost slipped and sliced through his fingers. He took a steadying breath but it was a shuddering one instead.

He wouldn't be here if the Dark Lord hadn't been forced into the spotlight before the strategic decision to reveal himself was made. He wouldn't be here, not in this war, not in this hell. Of course, he knew exactly why plans had changed.

_Harry bloody Potter. Stupid, arrogant Potter and his filthy, snivelling mudblood know-it-all. _The indignity of it all had almost shocked him. _Almost. _But of course, he really ought to have expected the Golden Trio to have brazenly tainted the whole wide world. It was so hard not want to drop everything and run off to murder the stupid, lazy, arrogant, irritating, _meddling,_ bloody _Harry Potter. _Even here, far away from school and life and all those things that had once meant something, Potter's life was managing to ruin his. _How hard is it for the greatest Dark Lord ever to crush Potter like a bug? Stupid, filthy mud-blood loving traitors and their..._

That line of thought was abruptly blasted from his mind as a mid-intensity stinging hex caught him in the right shoulder. Scowling at the interruption he swung his head to meet icy blue eyes. A second spell caught his left cheek as he turned, reminding him to school his features into the passive, neutral expression he'd mastered at a young age. He didn't know why he was even thinking about Potter now, he hadn't all summer.

"Problem, Mister Malfoy?" The tone was dangerous, as if the words left an unpleasant taste in his tormentor's mouth.

Draco Malfoy tried not to let his face move in response. He wasn't sure what response was warranted, nor did he want to tempt fate into sending another few hexes his way. A warm feeling slid down his cheek, trickling under his chin and teetering there for a moment. It made him want to swipe it away, its progress was tickling his skin. _Blood. _He assumed, with little surprise. _It was always blood. _There was a moment of relief though, when he realised the second spell was nothing more than the simple _Schealde Secare _charm, a superficial cutting spell usually used by good "respectable" wizards to open envelopes and parcels without damaging the products inside. Of course, the ministry had no idea it was a hastily stolen and adapted spell the "other sort" of wizards used, to open wrists when they needed blood to sacrifice - or curse.

"Well?" The voice prompted, apparently uninterested in Draco's answer but dissatisfied with his submissive silence.

"No, sir." He whispered, head bowed so he didn't need to see the disappointment on his father's face. It had been weeks since term ended, and he'd spent little time away from this room, locked inside his own personal hell. He kept his lips glued as silence resumed. He hadn't seen a calendar or the light of day in a while, but he guessed the holidays were at a close, if school hadn't started again already. He wondered if anyone would care. Trying not to question all of the Dark Lord's failures to kill the Boy-Who-Lived-To-Irritate, Draco fervently hoped his Occlumency skills were as good as Severus told him they were.

The tension in the air thickened for a minute, and then there was a shuffle, as his father moved forward and his tormentor stepped away.

"Dismissed." Lucius' words were as silky as ever, but the well-trained ear could the slight tremble in his voice as his tongue stumbled at the end of the word, as if meant to say more but wasn't sure what.

Draco kept his eyes pinned to the floor, frozen in time, as the near silent footsteps of his tormentor stole him away from sight. There was probably a softening charm on his boots, to enable him to walk so soundlessly on the hollow wooden floors. Draco had often tried to replicate the talent without them though. He preferred not to rely on magic that could be broken, and he felt the ability was rather more intimidating than the spell. He'd have used a stronger spell anyway.

He started again, as his father's hand ran over his cheek, a wandless, non-verbal healing spell left a tingling feeling on his skin. He lifted his eyes slightly.

"It's for your own good." His father said tightly, as though explaining something to a particularly foolish child. Draco fought the indignation down again. They'd had this argument before they came here, _so long ago_, and a Malfoy did not waste breath on words that would not be heard, unless he intended for them to be unheard of course.

Lucius seemed to pick up on this, because his eyes narrowed slightly. "The Dark Lord will not tolerate a wandering mind." The words implied the need to protect, but the sentiment was, as always, left quite unspoken.

"Yes father." Draco intoned. Knowing the emptiness in his voice would reveal his anger at his father without openly defying him. _He can't punish you for what you don't say. _He hadn't quite forgiven Lucius for bringing him here, the aches and pains of thousands of stinging hexes, _and worse, _lingered on his skin, but he knew things had been moving too fast, his father had had so little time to gather the plan they had. _This was the best they had. _

"Draco, I..." Lucius moved a little closer, hovering in front of his son. In the light of the Potions lab Draco studied his father carefully. Azkaban had agreed with his father better than it had his Aunt Bellatrix. Lucius' skin had yellowed slightly, and he had lost weight, though his regal robes hid it well from the casual observer. There was a tension around his eyes that had always been forming but never quite so blatant. True to his lineage though, the Head of the Malfoy House held his head high, no stoop graced his shoulders, but darkness lingered in his features when he didn't devote energy into denying it a hold there. His eyes had yet to take on that insane gleam that Aunt Bella's had and he wasn't quite so prone to hysterical fits of laughter. _Thank Merlin. _Draco really didn't have the nerve to stand those here, things were already too tense.

Draco felt his resolve crumble slightly at this consideration. "I understand." He added, with a little more emotion. The need to absolve his father of his crimes always struck him when he saw how Lucius had suffered in Azkaban. He wondered if he should be grateful to the Dark Lord, for saving his father from that hell, but found it difficult to lean towards the darkness that sent him here, to the haphazard Potions laboratory constructed in what he was convinced had played the part of dungeon not too long ago. A reminder from the Dark Lord, not all was forgiven. The Malfoy name still had something to prove. This was why their words were so guarded. One never knew what lingered in the darkness there.

"I..." Lucius started again but his voice trailed off into the gloomy room without further expansion and his father's shoulders stooped ever so slightly under the weight of his silence.

"You what? Lucius?" came a cold voice from behind them, which made them both spin at ungraceful speeds and collapse onto their knees as though their very lives depended on it, which they did. Not that Draco had time to spare for that thought as he hastily checked the shields layering his mind and pressed his forehead to the ground. He felt his father shift beside him but did not move.

"I pray my son's service to you is pleasing, my Lord," came the instant response. They all knew it was a carefully spun lie that Lucius weaved into his words. He would never have said it to Draco. The Dark Lord though, chose not to rip apart his bluff - yet. They, too, had had this conversation many times since Draco arrived here.

"Indeed, I rather hoped so," came the considered response, nonchalant. Draco was struck with the impression the Dark Lord was inclining his head in amusement, but he couldn't see. "Tell me, young Malfoy, do you too have such grand dreams?"

Both Malfoys tensed, they knew this day would come when the Dark Lord called them here to prepare potions for his cause. What choice did they have? Already so tangled in the Death Eaters, and so undesired by the Ministry and Hogwarts alike. Well, Malfoys just didn't take risks...not unless there was nothing to lose. They had hoped they might avoid it until Draco could return to school; another year and they'd be more prepared.

"Yes, my Lord." Draco whispered instantly, secretly hoping the strange gasping squeak of his voice wasn't heard by anyone else in the room. His pounding heart sent spikes of fear into every corner of his being. _Not today, please._ He needed more time. He wasn't ready.

"Then we shall have to welcome you to my service."

"My...my lord?" Lucius whispered.

Draco pressed his head further into the floor. _Not today. _He begged whatever deity had the heart to listen. The cold floor numbed his forehead, but not his fear. Instead it made him tremble all the more.

"Give me your arm Draco."

Draco raised himself up, shaking. _Why do you hate me? _The Dark Lord was inches away from his face and he had to control the flinch when his eyes met burning red ones.

It all happened too fast. A shock of red came from his side where his father's wand was pointing at his master. _Suicide. _The word sprung to Draco's mind before he knew what was happening.

Suddenly a hand pulled Draco to the side. Closing his eyes, he ducked. They'd planned this. He knew how to respond. They'd planned this. It became a mantra in his head. They'd planned it. They'd planned it.

Another spell from his father rocketed towards the Dark Lord, who easily blocked it. No emotion betrayed the Dark Lord's face and the father-son pair wondered if they'd not been baited into fuelling their plan.

Things were set in motion though, as a green flash of light struck the wooden wall Lucius conjured before them and shattered it across the room in a fiery rain of shards and splinters.

Draco was already moving, as the duel started in earnest behind him. _Run. _That was the plan. Use a distraction and get the hell out. He'd never realised what his father has meant by distraction. Truly, Azkaban had changed his father more than he'd realised.

Ducking under another curse, barely thinking, stumbling as something struck his leg he moved behind the cauldron and pushed it. The acid spilled over the hollow floor guided by the spell he was already speaking and snaked unnaturally towards the two duellers.

"Father!" He yelled as Lucius danced around the potion and glanced back at Draco.

"Run!" A shield flittered around him and a purple curse ricocheted haphazardly back to the Dark Lord, whose attention was shifting onto the youngest Malfoy. Hurling curses towards him as the boy stumbled again.

Draco glanced again at his father; a wordless message flew between their eyes. He understood, and then he dashed, across the floor, up the stairs, spells flying over his head. Leaping out of the closest window he could find his sprinted across the grass, pelting away from the Riddle Manor the fastest his numb legs would carry him. With a wheeze, he tumbled to a stop at the bottom of the hill; barely able to undo the top buttons on his shirt far enough to reach the emerald pendant that was sewn into his undershirt. With fingers that had the grace of a drunkard he spun his wand so it pointed at his left wrist and almost begged the magic out of it, "Secare!"

A gash erupted on his skin and even in his disorientation he had the presence of mind to press the bloody limb onto the jewel. Activated by his blood, and his alone, the portkey came to life, and Draco Malfoy was whisked away.

OoOoOoOoO

"Boy?" The voice sounded disembodied. His eyes opened and the blurry image his room - well, Dudley's second bedroom - swirled around him.

He grunted in response to the pounding on the door and pulled himself into a sitting position in confusion. A burning sensation lingered behind his eyes as he tiredly rubbed at the scar above them.

Time seemed to stand still for a moment, as his Aunt Petunia poked her head into the room and paused, evidently surprised at his dishevelled appearance.

"Boy, stop lazing about! Dinner needs making!" She spat, as she stepped back from the now widely open door. She seemed to want to turn away but found herself rooted to the floor as her young nephew's pale face turned a sickly shade of green.

Glancing from the floorboards to the boy's face, she gave a long suffering sigh - the kind that told the world she clearly wasn't impressed with these new developments - and marched into the room. A trashcan was thrust in the boy's arms as he began to violently empty his stomach.

With a look of disgust, she drew back to the door as if afraid of catching whatever peculiar disease the boy had thought fit the disgrace her family with.

"I need to speak to Dumbledore." Harry gasped, standing up so fast she scrambled back against the far wall of the hallway.

The bedroom tilted precariously for a second, and Harry grasped at the wall as his swimming head threatened to send him reeling back to the floor.

"What is it?" She whispered, looking as if the words would bring the accursed wizard rampaging into her house, her life, _her denial_.

Running a hand through his already messy hair in an attempt to ground himself, he shook his head. Admittedly, he hadn't quite forgiven the Headmaster for the shambles that was the Ministry fiasco, it was weeks ago but it still felt like yesterday. Perhaps Dumbledore already knew anyway, he always seemed to know everything. _Not that he ever sees fit to share it with anybody. _A dark thought swept through Harry's tired brain and he slumped back to the bed.

"Well, boy?" She demanded, clearly strengthened by the silence of the house around them, no crazy, colourfully dressed _freaks _were charging in the doors, or the windows, or _heaven-forbid _the _fireplace. _

Harry sent her a dark look. "Just got some news, bad news...about Volde-."

"Don't say it!" She shrieked. "Don't you dare bring any of your...your..._unnaturalness_ into my house."

Fists clenched at his side he rose of the bed, colour returning to his pale cheeks. This was just ridiculous, "Why did you ask then?" He shot back, defiant, and kicked the bedside dresser in frustration; he had more important things to worry about.

He'd never get this image out of his head. _Never._ The visions had been getting worse recently, as Voldemort ran rampant across the country, killing and maiming and terrorising.

_Lucius Malfoy is dead._ He realised and then recoiled in shock. Why did he not feel the joy he'd expected? The murderous, thieving, self-absorbed Head of Malfoy, grovelling servant to Voldemort himself was gone. Why wasn't he dancing for joy?

Why would Harry feel so utterly defeated when it was only a Death Eater? The Malfoys had declared their allegiance long ago. Ignoring his Aunt, who had evidently had enough of his abrupt mood swings and was closing the door with a blank expression of disinterest in his woes, he buried his face in his hands and tried to remember his dream, _vision, _more clearly.

Voldemort had snuck up on them; he hadn't heard their whispered conversation. Harry had been surprised to see the youngest Malfoy there, though in hindsight he really didn't know why. There had been an exchange, but Harry had missed most of it, until it became apparent that Draco Malfoy would take the Dark Mark.

If Harry was surprised when the elder servant had seized his son from Voldemort's grasping hands, then the half-blooded tyrant was almost shocked into inaction. It sent a thrill of pleasure down Harry's spine to realise that this betrayal hadn't been expected.

Lucius had sent a terrified Draco racing for the door with a single look. Harry bit down the jealously he felt that such a bond between family would never be felt for him. And then the awful fiery potion Draco Malfoy had spilled had consumed the floor – _was that on purpose? Or did spell he used to control its path towards the Dark Lord come at the moment of opportunity?_ It had made a serpentine path between the two elder wizards as the youngest Malfoy had scampered away, injured apparently, and definitely limping. The burning path of the potion had run in a thousand different directions, webbing across the floor until the weakened wood shuddered and bent inwards, sending both duellers falling into what must have been a magically created floor below - muggle houses had no need for such rooms.

Then the burning putrid smell of flesh _melting _from bone has hit his nostrils, and Voldemort had risen as though nothing had happened, and moved to Lucius' prone body, even though his on flesh was rippling under the potion's effect.

The thought of what had happened next made Harry shudder. He leant forward, trying to get it out, but instead expelled the meagre contents of his stomach once again. No one deserved _that. _Taking a deep breath Harry turned to stare out of the window. So the Malfoys had betrayed Voldemort... but to what end?

More importantly, what had become of the junior Malfoy, running for his life into the night?

- TBC -

Don't worry, I won't be with-holding this story for reviews, but I would really appreciate some feedback. I don't have a beta either, so feel free to leave any advice you can offer! If I have typos/grammar errors please let me know!

Thanks for reading.


	2. Calm Before the Storm

Just a heads up, this is NOT a super Harry fic, and it's not a 'Harry becomes a super-millionaire fic'. Both good ideas, but not a direction I'm looking to take with this particular story.

**Chapter Two: Calm before the Storm**

Harry rested his head against the cool glass of his window, unable to do much else. It had been less than an hour since the violent death of Lucius Malfoy had woken him, and he had yet to do anything with the information. Not entirely sure why he'd kept silent, he rolled the stiffness out of his shoulders. Dumbledore would want to know, but somewhat childishly Harry could not bring himself to pen a letter to the man who had lied to him all these years about the prophecy. Sirius' death was Harry's fault he knew that, but if had he of known...He sighed. Something could have happened. Something different, maybe?

_Death. _A word he'd heard far too many times in his life. Letting out the breath of air he'd been holding, and watching it fog up the glass, he let his mind wander to the last moments of his Godfather's life. A gnawing feeling made itself known in his limbs and he closed his eyes, against the world, against the pain, against the loneliness.

It had been a long, long summer. The Dursleys had let him keep to himself, except when they needed something. If it wasn't for his Aunt Petunia's occasional prodding he doubted he'd have found the energy to leave his room. He felt disembodied, the world was carrying on like nothing had changed when he just wanted them all to stop and realise that it had. It had lost so much colour without Sirius. _Sirius. _

He would have written to Sirius about the Malfoy vision. Shaking himself he opened his eyes again. He knew Hermione would insist he tell the Headmaster. He snorted to himself. Hermione and Ron had sent a few incredibly bare letters to him over the past few weeks, all promising to rescue him from his own personal hell at the Dursleys' but term started on Monday and here he was. The letters had often come together, and he suspected they were together, where ever they were.

_Isolated. _Harry rubbed his tired eyes, he'd taken to scouring Uncle Vernon's paper for news but once the Dursleys had realised what he was doing Vernon had taken to destroying them before he could. He grimaced when he remembered that exchange: _"Mum! He's going it again!" "What would freaks be doing in OUR news, boy?" "What will the neighbours think?"._

_When had Malfoy escaped Azkaban? How did he, for that matter? _Harry hadn't heard of any criminals running loose, like what had happened with Sirius, _his heart skipped a beat_. Looking back at the collection of news clippings Dumbledore had taken to sending him every other day he scowled at the decisive lack of any real news. _What is he playing at? _Most were nonsense articles about new potions discoveries and the entertainment sections, not that he really gave a damn about either. The headlines read flamboyantly: _Developments in uses for Parsnickle Snout for extending the life of your Garden Gnomes _or _Which witch was bewitching which?_

Anger welled up inside him again. Of course he would be kept in the dark wouldn't he? Not like he'd done anything worthy, not like he needed to be kept up to date. _Kill or be killed. _The thought stuck him without warning and the anger trickled away. A gentle hoot from Hedwig reassured him and he turned his back to the glass to smile at her. "Hey girl."

Placing a few owl treats in the dish he wondered who else he could write to. Someone who would have the power to find the youngest Malfoy, maybe protect him. A bully and an idiot Malfoy might be, but a murderer? Harry twisted his hands together. He wasn't sure. What if it was a ruse from Voldemort? He'd been tricked before. _Deceived. _He flinched at the thought. McGonagall would run straight to Dumbledore, he was sure of that. So would anyone in the Order he supposed. How did he not know anyone free from some control or another?

_Why not just tell him then? _Asked a snide voice in his head. Harry scowled at the thought: _too many secrets. Dumbledore has too many plans. _Besides, Dumbledore wasn't treating this trust thing as a two-way street. What did he owe him?

A tapping noise startled him from his thoughts and he spun, wand out before him.

An owl looked dazedly from the window ledge; it was a silhouette against deepening dusk. He hurried to open the window for it, ignoring the shout from downstairs that sounded like Uncle Vernon's complaining.

Taking the letter from the outstretched leg, Harry offered the owl water from Hedwig's dish, as her amber eyes watched the new-comer and then she scooted over on her perch to offer it a share.

Secretly pleased Hedwig had some company that wasn't brooding in its own grief, Harry turned to the letter. The heavy parchment envelope was sealed with deep green wax. Frowning at the unusual mail, he opened it and unfolded the short letter, embossed with an official letterhead.

_Dear Mister Harry James Potter, _

_We write to you on behalf of the Estate of Sirius Black,-_

Harry wrenched his eyes away, and took a deep breath, before returning to the letter.

_- son of Orion and Walburga Black. We regret to inform you, should you be otherwise unaware, that the passing of Mr. Black occurred on the evening of 18 June, 1996 by unknown means at the Ministry of Magic. _

_On the execution of his Last Will and Testament, Mr. Black has appointed you, as his sole heir, the main beneficiary of his estate. According the 1411 Estate and Blood-line Act, we have requested that the assets frozen under the Black name following his arrest be re-activated, and will be transferred to you as his heir presumptive. _

_In the event that you are not of age, or declared independent as defined in the Family and Inheritance Acts of 1901, we shall appoint your legal guardian as heir in your stead until such a time as you are fit and able. _

_In order to complete further spell work, we ask that you please prepare an appointment by return owl with one of our capable Ministry-approved practitioners. Our offices in Telic Alley, adjacent to Diagon Alley are open for business hours (7am-5.35pm) Tuesday through Sunday. _

_Yours in grief, _

_Harold Timberleys & Jeogg Trotters_

_Timberleys & Trotters Legal Spell Practitioners and Family Magic Specialists_

Harry's fists clenched in untold grief, and his eyes misted over in a familiar way. With a shuddering sigh, he ran his fingers of Sirius' name. _Lost. _He wondered at the emptiness inside of him, and the crushing loneliness that was everywhere he turned, like a shield between the world and him. What did all of this mean?

He wasn't of age...did that mean Aunt Petunia was going to get everything Sirius had wanted him to have? He gripped the letter tighter. _No. _The brittle shield buckled against the thought. He couldn't let Sirius be tainted by them, couldn't...not again. _Never again. _

Grasping a pen because _quills are for unnatural houses only _he spread a sheet of parchment on his –_Dudley's – _desk.

_Dear Mr Timberleys & Mr Trotters, _

_Thanks for your letter. _

He paused. What did he want to say? _Screw the money, I don't need it, but don't let my awful family lay their meaty paws on it? _Well, that was one way to lose friends. Better to be politely honest, he supposed, even if Sirius – _like a knife to the heart – _would have boldly told them exactly what he thought.

_I don't understand the laws of inheritance, but I would like to ask if there's any way we can simply freeze the assets until I turn seventeen? I feel my current guardians are unable to manage my affairs._

Well, that was a nice way of saying it.

_Could I drop by on Saturday at noon to discuss this further? _

_Sincerely, _

_Harry Potter. _

Shrugging, it would have to do; he turned to Hedwig, and her new companion. She returned to sleep but the new owl was watching him interestedly.

"Well...could you ah, take this back then?" He asked, holding it out. With a ruffle of its feathers it grasped the parchment, stretching sedately before winging towards the window and shooting into the night sky.

Now, to the more important question, how on Earth was he going to sneak away to Diagon Alley tomorrow morning? Settling into his usual position by the window he furrowed his brow in thought.

The Dursley house was guarded, he was sure of it, though his letters from the Order every three days didn't mention it. Apparition may sound like car back-firing, but Harry doubted there was a faulty car that back-fired every day at nine in the morning, noon, the close of dusk and midnight on the dot. Sometimes he wondered how stupid they thought he really was. The letters were often supportive – _Harry, Sirius would want you to be happy _– when Lupin sent them; or had helpful advice from Moody– _Watch the buttocks, lad! Keep the wand away from the back pockets! CONSTANT VIGILANCE! – _very few of them mentioned anything of real interest. He was getting tired to being told to stay happy in his isolation. Should he be grateful for them abandoning him?

Sliding into bed, he realised he was too tired and much too worked up to really think about it. His mid-afternoon nap had been interrupted with a murder. Lucius Malfoy would still be dead in the morning, he could just tell someone then.

With a sigh, he turned to the ceiling and wondered what dreams would haunt him tonight.

OoOoOoO

With a crash, Draco landed sprawled across the doorstep of Malfoy Manor. It was impossible to get any closer by magical means.

Using his still bloody wrist, he splashed his own blood across the door handle, and a series of locks undid themselves. The wide oak door groaned backwards and he pulled himself into the doorway with his right arm. Panting, his feet felt like they barely weighed anything at all. The odd sense of weightlessness there made him feel top-heavy. The world tilted and he was surprised the Manor didn't shift in its foundations with it.

Footsteps rushed down the stairs to great him.

"Draco!" He didn't need to look up to recognise his Godfather's voice. _Panic. _How was he going to explain this? Did Severus know? Was he loyal to the Dark Lord? In a moment of insanity, because a rational Draco Malfoy would know he'd never escape Snape even on a good day, he lunged back out the door, teetering on his feet and started to run.

A spell wrapped around his torso and lifted him up, dragging him back. Thankfully he did not suffer the indignity of screaming like a child. Strong arms replaced the magical bonds and he shuddered.

"Draco, you must tell me: where is your father?"

Draco just shook his head. He didn't know the answer.

A heavy sigh responded. "The Dark Lord calls; we'll finish this when I return."

Draco's muscles tensed. Adrenaline spiked through his body, and he whipped from Serverus' arms, poised like a cobra. _Ready to strike_. "Finish what?" He seethed.

There was silence. "Your father's orders were clear, Draco. You were not to leave the laboratory without him. What chaoses have you concocted now?"

Stiffly, Draco nodded. Of course. _Orders._

His godfather straightened his robes and set him with a glare, they would never speak of this argument again. Draco stiffened, there was only one way to know what had become of Lucius now, and he rather wished he never would.

They stood in silence for a moment, and then Draco let out a sigh. The adrenaline slipped from his weary muscles as quickly as it had come and he let his knees buckle until they met the ground.

With a smirk, Severus wordlessly offered him a potion "It's alright," he added to the room at large, "You can stop cowering behind the furniture now."

A shuffle behind him told him Narcissa Malfoy had appeared out of her hiding place, and was removing a series of complex protection spells from her person. Lucius had planned for everything. _Never take risks_. Did Severus know it was part of the plan? Did he know about the plan?

Draco eyed the potion carefully and then breathed it in. Cinnamon met his nostrils and he smiled pleasantly. Despite his apparent disinterest in Draco's health, Severus had remembered to lace the potion with his favourite spice, to ease its passage to his stomach. The more traditional chilli seasoning the potions master favoured as a personal and indiscriminate revenge against the world had always made his eyes water uncomfortably. The smooth blue liquid sloshed against the vial as he swallowed it and his head immediately cleared enough for him to remember he could begin healing his various cuts.

"You should answer _his _call." Narcissa said, though she didn't look at him, and Severus pretended to notice neither the watery effect her eyes had taken, nor the running mascara on her cheek. In all the fuss she must have forgotten to spell it against this type of display of emotion. _Forgotten. _Not a word one used around Narcissa, the Lady Malfoy. _ Why was she crying?_

"Of course." The Potions Master responded, as he observed the bare house around them. Everything valuable was already safe in a vault at Gringrotts. Narcissa was spelling a small collection of items into a silver pouch.

Narcissa sighed. _Cracks under the surface. _Widowed before a just time, the Lady Malfoy, though ignorant of her husband's death, clearly knew what Draco's presence meant.

"Be careful," Severus warned, "whatever trouble he traipses through this house, I cannot protect him."

She inclined her head in thanks at his concern and was secretly pleased to see surprise register in his obsidian eyes.

"Goodbye Severus." She said, a dismissal if there ever was one, and the Potions Master's narrowed eyes darted between mother and son with suspicion. Wordlessly, he offered Draco a handful of vials, filled with the same blue potion, a shaking hand wrapped around them and lifted them from his grasp. With a slight bow to the Lady of the House he turned and left the house, spelling clean the Draco's splattered blood from the doorway as he went.

The silence without Severus was deafening. Draco's shaking hands carefully set the vials on the floor.

Narcissa knelt before him, her hands lifted his chin up, their grey eyes met. She was afraid to ask. Draco reached for another vial, his head was clouding over again. He could barely grasp the cork with his muddled fingers. Her soft hands wrapped around his and pried it from his grasp.

"I'm sorry mother...I tried to save him."

The shattering noise made him flinch back. Tiny shards of glass skittered across the marble floor in a thousand directions, each taking a piece of Narcissa's heart with them. Her eyes closed as a tear slid down her cheek. It was confirmed now.

She sent a proud smile to her son, "I know you did. I know. You won't come with me, Draco?" Always more affectionate than Lucius had ever managed, always more open than Severus could be. _Untouched. _The purity of Narcissa's spirit was undamaged by the turbulence of the world around her. A portrayal cunningly spun to let men fall for her charms, and women aspired to them. Who could say a bad word for poor sweet Narcissa, ignorant of her evil husband's doings? No one knew she could create hexes to peel the skin of your body piece by piece, nor that she sweetly spiked her _famous _lavender tea with truth serum. A viper with hidden venom, but a wilting flower before the harsh summer sun.

Severus often said she should have been in Hufflepuff. She trusted loyalty far too much. Yet, she loved like a Slytherin, with everything she had even though she never gave it away.

Draco shook his head grimly. The Malfoy heir needed to organise his father's affairs lest they fall into Bellatrix's hands, their only blood relative now. There had been others, but they'd been erased from the family lines, disowned. They couldn't get their hands on it now, the Ministry would have it before then. He needed to forge bonds with – _control the impulse to shudder – _Dumbledore, and stupid arrogant Potter and his filthy team of blood-traitors and mudbloods. He need to protect her, to make sure it was safe before she came home again.

"I'll write when I find somewhere safe to hide," She promised, her hands ran through his hair, and her lips pressed against his burning forehead. "Be safe."

A shudder rippled through the wards and, with a backwards glance to check the house, his mother squeezed his shoulder and vanished into the shadows of the entrance hall.

Her leaving did not stir Draco's resolve as he struggled to his feet, only half-way through his healing spells, gave a firm nod and challenged the world, "Do your worst."

The battlelines were drawn today, he stood toe-to-toe with a world he grew up in. Family divided by war. Before the night was out he'd be casting the deadliest curses they knew at people he'd once longed to join.

A shiver rushed through his skin, as his Godfather sneered down at him from his imagination.

His leg was throbbing, and he could barely walk, but he kept moving. He couldn't expect help to arrive for this battle. It was him against whatever tempest the Dark Lord could summon.

Lightning flashed across the sky, illuminating the empty house as a crack of thunder made the walls jitter in their foundations. He had to stall them, just for long enough for his mother to escape, she couldn't have slipped beyond the walls of the house yet.

A lone boy raised his wand, and whispered a charm into the night.

Lightning flashed again, as a group of shadowed figures against the gloomy dusk loomed at the high gate of Malfoy manor. The rumble that followed wasn't thunder; it was wards buckling under pressure.

His heart skipped a beat. Then another.

One against five.

For the first time in his life, rooted to the spot in fear, Draco Malfoy fervently wished that he was a Gryffindor. Then maybe he'd be brave enough to face this tempest.

The wards shuddered again, and dropped.

Emptiness swept away by the wind. The force of the gale shattered the silence.

_So it begins. _

- TBC -

Thank you for the encouragement, I hope this next chapter lives up to expectations. Reviews would be eternally appreciated, as would any feedback you can offer! Thanks so much for taking the time to read. :)


	3. Tempest

**Chapter Three: Tempest**

Draco's hands were shaking as he twirled his wand between his fingers. Waiting was something he wasn't normally good at. Standing almost frozen, the waiting made him feel trapped.

The rain had started; it was pounding down against the window with a vengeful fury. Inside, safe from the tempest Draco cowered in shadows, watching warily and silently.

Thunder rumbled through the Manor, the shell of his empty home. Draco flinched back behind the wall, peering across the garden. _Breathe. _

The first defence his father and he had laid so carefully after he returned from Azkaban was triggered as the line of Death Eaters approached. Hot oily _Beoran _potions that had been so painstakingly laid erupted from the Earth, catching on robes and boiling, even against the supernatural storm that conjured a wrath of rain.

One of the Death Eaters flailed uncontrollably, arms and legs contorting against themselves as he collapsed to the floor in a violent heap, like paper folding into itself before an open flame. The potions smouldered as his companions scrambled over each other in an effort to get away.

_Four left. _Draco's heart leapt to his throat. It was a start. The second line was expected now, as his assailants constructed shields amongst themselves. Why hadn't they done that before walking onto his property? _What sort of seasoned Death Eater would-? _

_The Dark Lord had sent recruits too punish the Malfoys? _Draco tried not to be more insulted than he was relieved. He swallowed his pride. The Dark Lord probably wanted to remind these new recruits what betrayal would mean. Trust the Dark Lord to under-estimate a child, but how could he underestimate a Malfoy? _His father would be so..._Draco's heart stopped with that line of thought. Shaking himself he focused, assessing the situation carefully. He had to come out alive, for his mother, she needed him.

The second line of defence failed of course, now that shields were there. It was a simple timed charm, to hit them an assortment of simple hexes. A last ditch effort he'd just constructed. They bounced off harmlessly.

He watched them moving, trying to recognise them from the distance. He ducked behind the wall again, and pressed his hands to his face. The towering form at the back of the group, evidently the leader of the little escapade, was directing the expendables to test the perimeter defences before joining them unscathed. Draco slid down the wall and sat for a moment. He would recognise that yelling voice anywhere, the tall cloaked man with billowing robes. Severus Snape had been sent by the Dark Lord.

_Breathe. _

Pulling himself together he slipped his hand into the pocket of his cloak, the glass of a potion vial cooled his fingers. The door swung open to his right, crouching, he watched as they moved inside.

Hidden in the shadows, Draco struck first. He coiled light from his wand and using a quick masking and illusion spell his Godfather –the one who had come to kill him for the Dark Lord - had taught him. The invisible spell shot from his wand a second after his illusion charm created a vibrant purple jet of harmless colour across the hallway to distract them. It caught one of them in the face as he lowered his shield to cast a _lumos _spell_. _The invisible hex forced him to the ground and defeated another of his foes. _Three to go. _

_Breathe. _

The other's immediately aimed their spells at his illusion. _Breathe. _A second spell, this time masked by a light thrown from the back of the room, slipped behind them and stunned the next. _Two to go. _

Severus had found him though. "_Secarimax." _It hit him across the neck with a blinding flash of pain, had his shield not been half-constructed when it struck he might be dead. Choking in panic, Draco responded in kind with a spell. Something was warming his neck, dribbling down to his collar, sticking his shirt to his skin.

"_Torquera_!" The twisting spell spun Snape's outer robes into a noose, and dragged him backwards, but the second Death Eater quickly performed to counter-charm and added a blue spell aimed at him that Draco didn't recognise. Flushed into the light by his forced dodge - _never chance a shield if you're not sure it'll work, Draco _- he scampered across the hall. A spell caught him in the back and pushed him through the wall with a temper. Not Severus though, he knew, Severus wouldn't has used something so rudimentary when a blasting hex would have put a hole through him and not the wall. Thankful, though, for the distance, Draco knew his part had been played, his mother would be gone by now.

_Escape. _Knowing they were advancing from the peppering of spells that flurried after him; he pulled himself up and hurtled towards the French doors that led out of the sun room. Hurried footsteps hastened him, and without a second thought, he didn't pause to open them. With closed eyes he smashed through the glass, it littered into his hair and stuck to his skin in stinging bites, but he kept moving. Ten more steps and he'd be out of range of the anti-apparition wards. He didn't care to try here and see if the Death Eaters had fully removed the wards, or just the ones that obstructed them.

A tripping curse caught his feet and he collided with the ground. He rolled instantly, and was immediately glad, as a curse smashed into the ground where his hand had been. That was definitely Severus, he thought grimly, though he didn't pause to watch the soil gouge itself out of the ground.

Seven more steps, he was so close.

Back on his feet, he sent a haphazard cutting curse over his shoulder, a shout sounded behind him. Had he hit someone? He couldn't help but hope it wasn't Severus.

Five more steps.

The earth rumbled beneath his feet as another curse stuck the ground before him. He dove over it, feet sliding on the muddy grass, awash with rain.

Three more steps.

Someone was screaming, "Traitor!" Was it Severus? He didn't think so, should he glance back to be sure?

Two more steps. So close.

"Avada –." The shout was closer than before.

Draco spun on his foot, and vanished into the night air.

Curses crashed into the ground a second later, and the angry shouts of two men erupted into the darkness.

OoOoOo

Moving carefully, Harry eased out of the front door, invisibility cloak wrapped securely around him, as his Aunt Petunia made a doting goodbye to her Dudley- _Diddydums Darling! - _ who was off to "lunch" with that _darling_ rat-faced boy and a mischievous smirk on his face that should have been a cause for alarm for his mother. The tension that had existed when she'd woken Harry last night from his vision was gone as the bony woman fluttered around the house.

Sparing them a second glance to make sure they hadn't noticed him slip past, he moved to the edge of the property and waited. If Mad-Eye Moody, with his all-seeing eye, was his guard – _babysitter _– today, he would make himself known in a matter of moments. Saturdays were usually quiet though, he was quite sure that whoever was meant to watch over him wasn't there. He hadn't heard the telltale crack of apparition this morning.

Seconds ticked by. Harry's eyes darted around the garden and street. Though no-one had _expressedly_ said "_Harry, don't go wandering into London_" he was quite sure it had been implied. Nervous, about breaching the trust of his captors, and a little thrilled to escape the only prison in the world that left the doors wide open, he hesitated a second longer. Taking another step away from the garden and onto the road, he waited. The earth didn't shift. With a bit more confidence, he carried on. Nothing came at him, and there were no harsh reprimands for breaking loose. He took a deep breath and glanced around one last time to be sure.

With a satisfied smile, he reminded himself that he had to do this. If they weren't going to send the news to him, he was going out to find it. Better to do it now and apologise later. Making his way over three blocks away, he paused, and wondered if he'd gone far enough. Well, they'd find out eventually anyway. Cringing at the lecture he'd get from Mrs. Weasley, and trying to ignore the stern disappointment of Dumbledore's eyes that gazed at him from his imagination, he steeled himself for the future, and flung his arm out, wand briefly flashing into sight before a bright purple bus skidded to a halt before him.

A pimply face and overly cheerful smile greeted him, but it was not Stan Shunpike's. Biting back his surprise, he pulled the cloak off as he climbed aboard, trusting that his carefully selected hat was still over his trade-mark scar.

"Hullo!" Said the witch. "I'm Agatha," She flashed him a smile that said he had her full attention. "and welcome 'board the Knight Bus! Best wizardin' transportation for emerguncies in the untire –."

"Where's Stan?" Harry asked irritably, using a chair to steady himself as he moved to the front of the bus. He'd rather been hoping for a friendly face.

Huffing in irritation, she gave him a curious look, and tucked her notes into the front pocket of her purple robes, which had "Knight Bus: Official Customer Liaison" embroidered in lime green. The contrast of colours was almost comical. She studied him for a minute.

"Not bin readin' the _Prophet _then?" She asked, as she stalked up the aisles with an ease that made Harry's draw drop as he nearly flew out an open window with an aggressive jump of the bus. "Mad-dum Hirnee!" She called, and gestured to the seemingly empty field they'd been deposited in, with the fixed smile back in place.

The women, Madam Hirnee, hoisted herself from a chintz armchair behind the driver and tottered to the door, with a wave, and a large, very alive goose looking contentedly up at them from her hand-bag. "Thank you dear."

With a friendly wave, Agatha turned back to Harry, and motioned him to the front of the bus. "Where to, then?"

"Ah, the Leaky Cauldron?" Harry asked, still watching the woman who had sat down calmly in the grass, and was unfolding a book from her purse. The goose settled in her lap.

"Leaky Cauldron, Ernie!" Agatha shrilled, and then turned back to him, without a flinch as he flung himself into the sturdiest chair he could see. "Stan's bin 'rrested." She pursued her lips. "He was _conversin' _with an unsavoury sort." Two other passengers close by shifted, a wizard in a dark cloak who looked away and a witch who leant closer trying to listen.

"Death eaters, you mean?" Harry didn't believe it, but then he'd really only met Stan briefly. Who's to say there was an ugly connection of Voldemort hidden in his life away from the travel industry? No. Stan had been so genuine. _What had happened?_

With a sniff, Agatha gave him a dark look. "Allegedly, 'course, he can hardly help who he has to greet on this bus." With a long-suffering sigh she held out an invoice, and Harry amused himself digging into his pockets for the appropriate change. He wondered what had become of Stan, and hoped Azkaban was not the answer. What else had he missed since school ended?

"I've, uh- been away," He said, as he held out a handful of coins, "and I'm not up to date with the current news." The witch who had been listening let out a short snort, as though no one could have possibly missed recent events, and then blushed at being caught eavesdropping and looked away.

Eyeing him suspiciously because she clearly agreed with the anonymous third party to the conversation, Agatha held out a copy of the _Daily Prophet _from the reading stand by the window_, _and turned away. Unsettled by her distrust, Harry glanced at the front page, which read "FOUR MORE DEATH EATERS BEHIND BARS!"

Flipping through it hastily, he was greeted with a dim view of the world that had been carefully edited out of the clippings Dumbledore had granted him. The Ministry, forced into admitting the return of Voldemort, had gone on a spree of arresting all those who had _connections _to him. Surely enough, Harry doubted Stan Shunpike was the only unfortunate scapegoat the Ministry had trumped up to look like it was winning the battle. There had been a couple of attacks too. Fudge was still parading around as the Minister for Magic, but there was circulating rumours some other fellow from the Magical Law Enforcement Departments was vying for the position, apparently by arresting everyone. He was stunned that it was popular idea among the readers' opinion pages as he scanned them between jolts of the bus and tried not to get motion sickness.

The bus stopped on a busy London road sending three chairs flying and the papers in the reading stand across the floor. "The Cauldron." Agatha announced brightly and Harry, amongst three other passengers, including the witch who'd been eavesdropping, slid off the bus with as much dignity as he could. Checking his watch he noted he had barely five minutes until noon. Trying to avoid drawing attention to his brisk pace, he dodged through the lunch-time crowd of the pub and entered the Alley behind another of the passengers who had already made it to the wall out the back and was returning his wand to his holster. It was a warm summer day, but almost everyone in the Alley as wearing long cloaks, including the passenger beside him. Given the recent papers he supposed he shouldn't be surprised, he wasn't the only one with secrets to hide.

Moving towards Gringrotts he overtook the passenger who was moving slowly hunched heavily over a cane, and tried to blend into the crowd. He hardly needed someone spotting him now, friendly to his cause or not. School went back tomorrow, Sunday, first of September, though he'd done his shopping by owl order, because no one had contacted him about it, he was still glad to be here once more before leaving.

Panting, red in the face, and trying not to look completely bewildered by the front of the office building, Harry clasped the door handle. The building was barely wide enough for the wooden door that said 'welcome' in a beautiful hand-written script at the bottom and then stretched skywards to the very top floor, which could have comfortably housed the entire ground floor of the Hogwarts entrance hall.

The door gave way to a tiny room; in front of him was a counter, with a rotund bald man manning the desk. His pointed ears reminded Harry of those he'd seen on the goblins at Gringrotts but he chose not ask about it. The man didn't speak, but simply looked up with an expectant expression.

"Er, hello? I've an appointment at twelve?" Harry offered wondering if this was the information the strange man had sought. A firm nod reassured him it was indeed the correct response, and the man stood, barely reaching Harry's hip and moved to the only other feature of the room, a white door with a brass knocker at Harry's knee height. With three sharp raps, the receptionist gave him a toothy smile, and Harry tried not to wince at the sudden flash as the memory of Griphook's pointed teeth bearing at him greedily unfolded in his mind. The door opened, and with a flourish of an arm, the man pushed Harry into the awaiting darkness. A shuddering beneath his feet made him turn around in hopes of giving the man a reprimand for his rude behaviour, only to find himself in a much wider room, well lit from the windows which proved to him he was now on the third floor.

A tall man with a muggle suit on stood waiting with a pleasant smile that set Harry to ease almost at once. "Mr Potter?" He asked, with a polite nod. "Welcome to Timberleys and Trotters." He spread his arms wide as if the office were something rather special, and apart from the flurry of small papers than where whizzing over their heads it wasn't all that different from the accountant's office Aunt Petunia had once been to.

"Right, thanks." Harry nodded.

He was ushered at once into a second room, where a desk and two office chairs sat before him. "Take a seat; take a seat, Mr Potter. I am Jeogg Trotters, your personal attendant today. Of course, I simply had to handle the case myself; all our most valued clients are of the utmost importance to myself and my dear partner Harold."

With a nervous nod Harry wondered what that meant.

"Let me begin, my young friend, with my deepest and most heartfelt condolences." Jeogg offered him a box of tissues, but Harry waved the away, tightening his jaw. When someone said something like that, it made it much too real for his tastes. Besides, he really wasn't going to cry here, was he?

"Thanks." He said shortly, trying to hide his discomfort. Jeogg's eyes softened.

"Well, down to business then. We've received correspondence from one Albus Dumbledore to be heard on the matter of your inheritance." He paused to gauge Harry's shocked eyes. "Our dear friend, it appears, felt you might seek us out. He has offered to conduct your affairs in the absence of your legal ability to do so until your seventeenth birthday next year."

Harry's hands clenched immediately, was Dumbledore even going to tell him this? "No." He whispered.

Jeogg's smile brightened a touch, "We felt, however, that the most Ancient and Noble House of Black could not go without a Head for such a time. We have, should your permission complete the spell, applied for your financial liberation under the Family and Inheritance Acts of 1901."

"And what does that mean?" Was anyone ever going to ask his permission before they started manipulating his life?

"The heir presumptive or heir apparent of any Ancient and Noble House is entitled to apply for the legal liberation of him or herself." Jeogg seemed rather delighted to have a captive audience. "It's so that the houses aren't defiled by imposters who manipulate the legal standing of the Wizengamot, of course."

"Right...and what does that mean for me?"

"Only that you'd take control of your assets in the absence of a properly appointed guardian. When you're seventeen you'll have to option to sit as a full-time judge in the Courts, but most heirs these days appoint proxies in their stead." There was a lingering disappointment in that phrase. "You are still of course bound by the rules of your Guardians in the muggle world, and you'd still be bound by the Underage Wizarding laws..." He leant over the desk, staring down at Harry with intent. "It is simply, Mr Potter, the chance to control your own accounts for yourself. Nothing more."

Harry nodded. If this kept the money from the Malfoys, as relatives to the Blacks through Narcissa - a stab of horror hit him as he realised he still hadn't told anyone about the _brutal _end of the senior Malfoy - and away from the Dursleys, he was happy.

A smile lit up Jeogg's face as he tapped his wand and a parchment appeared before them. "Then sign on the dotted line, my dear lad!"

A knock at the door distracted them both though, as a cloaked man walked in. "I require your attention urgently, Trotters." It was a sneer, a can clasped tightly in one hand, wavering slightly as the knuckles whitened in their tight grip.

The vibrant quill slid from Harry's hand as he observed this interruption. A heavy cloak covered black slacks, the left pant leg had a long rip across it, and Harry could see a darkened stain there. _Blood. _He couldn't see if the wound was still there. The person, he remembered him from the Knight Bus now, leant heavily on a gold inlaid cane, which was grasped in a pale hand. Evidently the wound had caused a limp permanent enough for a cane.

What shocked him most perhaps, apart from the heavy bruising across his face, was the wide and barely healed cut that ran across Draco Malfoy's neck.

He stared, dumbfounded, and was half aware that Jeogg was floundering to speak, mouth opening and closing like a goldfish.

The quill, unnoticed, hit the white carpet with a spray of black ink and lay forgotten as the dark stained the white, and turned each other to shades of grey.

"Malfoy?" He was surprised to hear himself ask.

Malfoy fixed him with a look the clearly said he was an idiot – _how did he do that?_ Harry was the healthy one who'd been calmly minding his own business!

"No." The look deepened. "I'm a figment of your imagination."

- TBC -

Hi. So, thanks for reading! Reviews are really important for keeping me excited about the story, and I'd really like to know what you think so please, please take the time to let me know?

Have I got Draco and Harry's characters right? Are things going too fast/too slow? Is the switching between characters ok or is it confusing?


	4. Unfortunate Meetings

**Chapter Four: Unfortunate Meetings**

"Malfoy?" The Golden Boy sounded so mystified that Draco briefly felt like laughing.

"No." He drawled, straightening, his cloak covering his torn and tattered clothes. "I'm a figment of your imagination." He hadn't been expecting to run into anyone he knew here of all places, after he'd so successfully navigated Diagon Alley alone. _Complications. _

"Ah, you know each other do you, boys? Of course, of course, through the Lady Malfoy." Trotters stood at once. Looking gleeful, the man grasped Draco on the shoulder and steered in him a newly conjured chair beside Harry's. "What brings you here Master Malfoy? I do hope you mother is well after hearing the news of Sirius' most grave passing."

Understanding lit up Draco's eyes as he smiled grimly at the benevolent man. "Oh she was simply distraught. It took me hours to calm her." It wasn't a lie. She's been horrified when she'd heard to Black family fortune was to be inherited by the filthy Potter boy. _He'll ruin our reputation. _She had wailed.

Potter shifted uncomfortably beside them, looking surprised at Draco's response. _Idiot. _

"She didn't care about him." Harry said obstinately. Draco let a tolerant smile slide over his face, _I never said she did, _he thought.

"I'm afraid however, that is not the reason for my unannounced visit." Draco said charmingly, and if he hadn't look so dishevelled one might have believed him to be graciously and humbling dropping by for Sunday tea in the garden. "I'm afraid I must ask for privacy, the news might distress our dear, sweet _Harry_." The stab at Potter's temperament could have been better veiled, but Draco had little patience for playing these games and it had been a rather long day. Time was of the essence.

Trotters nodded, and took the half-signed parchment from Potter's outstretched hand. "I'll just see Harry to the door then."

Potter looked outraged, "what are you up to, Malfoy?" Draco studied him for a moment, unwilling to admit he had rather violently switched his allegiance to the Dumbledore-squad just yet. He had his dignity after all. Besides, his father's death needed to be a secret until his fortunes were safe from manipulating hands, and his potions were starting to wear off, he could already feel the slight tremor in muscles.

Alone in the office, as Potter was all but dragged out by an apologetic Trotters, who was waving away the fee as a sign of his deepest apologies for not being able to continue to consultation personally, Draco conjured a foot rest and folded his hands in his lap. Another man in outrageous neon pink robes and trim dragon-hide business shoes took Potter down the hall. Well, at least the Malfoy account still had some sway over the Black account, Draco thought archly. He pulled his collar up, trying to conceal the gash on his skin.

"Master Malfoy?" Trotters was timid now as though the barrier of Potter's presence had somehow given him strength, and now that it was gone his confidence was sliding through his fingers like water. "How can we be of service to your father?"

Draco schooled his face into a distasteful expression. His father had sent him here before; he remembered threatening Trotters once over their artful plot to inherit the Pulviere estate, under the Dark Lord's orders. "You will be of service to me now."

Some of the tension in Trotters' face eased. _Relief. _Interesting. Draco noted the man seemed to prefer him to his father's manipulative glare. "I'm sorry for your loss." Trotters whispered, realising the weight of Draco's words. The man's eyes flickered over his injuries uncertainly.

Nodding sagely in response Draco held out a small sack of coins, all he had managed to scrape out of the little pouch his mother had given him before the Manor had been attacked. "Half now, half later." He said confidently, as though he had more where that came from, which of course he would, _if _Trotters succeeded. "I need the Malfoy accounts unlocked, given my father's arrest is now moot upon his passing. I cannot provide proof; you'll have to get it yourself." He paused carefully. "You'll have two days from now or I shall be most disappointed in this firm." The threat lingered for a moment as he considered his options; he couldn't play the part he was used to, the one the Dark Lord had demanded. He needed more finesse, the Dark Lord's power was not a threat he could use anymore. Deflated by his real lack of any substantial power over the man before him, he let himself sink back into the cushions and sighed. _Time for a new tactic. _

Surprised by the sudden change in the Malfoy heir, Trotters nodded, and Draco knew he was assuming that their more cut-throat history was a product of Lucius' demands rather than Draco himself. He felt a little twinge as he realised no one would remember his father fondly, except himself and his mother, well, maybe Severus too but it was hard to tell what that man was thinking these days.

The liberation process was easy; he simply signed the parchment that he now recognised as the same to Potter's. _Curious. _The difficult part would be convincing the Ministry to relinquish the vaults back to him without proof his father was dead. Wizarding law dictated that all arrested persons had their assets frozen until such a time as they died, or had served their sentence. Azkaban was not something to profit from, and even the tiny amount of interest payment that Gringrotts offered was too much of a good thing for the law-abiding citizens to bear. Draco sent silent thanks for his father having the foresight to put the Manor in his wife's name, or he'd be homeless now. Not that he could go back there, with the wards down it was likely to be overrun with looters and his enemies. He was saddened by the thought of its beauty shredded, and wondered if the few possessions he'd left there would ever been seen again. Catching himself before his mind wandered too far, he noticed Trotters watching him with a trace of concern on his face. Frowning his assessed himself and was faintly surprised to notice his fingers were trembling and the quill, still clutched in his hand, was wavering backwards and forwards as a result.

The potions were definitely wearing off now, as weariness snuck into his limbs. He searched for refills in his pockets, though he knew he'd already eliminated his store. Maybe the Apothecary would have something that could suffice? _Must be getting desperate. _

They'd spent a long while discussing how to go about this. Draco was certain witnesses would be found, or _created. _He certainly wasn't going to be telling anyone the truth, it would come out far too soon as it was. Trotters could use a few of those favours he had stored away and make this happen.

"It will all be handled." Trotters said carefully, still unsure what Draco was about to do.

Draco stood. "Thank you then, sir," he paused, to let the man open the door for him, "for everything."

Maybe things wouldn't be so bad. Trotters was still afraid of him, maybe Draco _could_ make it until the accounts were up and he had something to use against people again?

His hand drifted back to his pocket. It would be irrelevant if he couldn't get more healing potions soon.

OoOoOoOoO

Harry left the office building, but lingered across the street under a shop awning. Waiting for Malfoy to emerge, curious about what he was doing in public, so tattered. A part of him was slightly saddened to realise it had indeed been a true vision. This would also explain why Malfoy was there, he'd been trying to organise his father's affairs.

The rest of his appointment had been conducted by another man, who was much less enthusiastic about Harry's presence. He'd read the Will aloud for Harry, then had a series of funny charms and contracts for Harry to perform to allow the holdings of the Black family vault to be changed into his name, and then he'd been given the key to the vault, prepared a password for the vault should he lose it – _did the Potter vault have such a safeguard? – _and then presented with a list of his new assets and a pamphlet entitled 'So You've Decided to be Filthy Stinking Rich'. He felt it was a nice touch that it was made in the shape of an oversized galleon.

He loitered amongst the crowd, pretending to look in the shop window, which as it turned out was a lovely little bookstore, he checked the hat over his scar as he realised the main display was the biography of "The Great Harry Potter: Chosen One". Curious, and glancing back at the office door to be sure Malfoy wasn't there yet, he ducked into the door, and pulled a copy off the shelf, trying to look as little like himself as possible without much success.

A photo of himself, who looked like he was trying to edge out of the photo grimaced up at him. In the background he saw the Hogwarts Express. He'd never even noticed the photo being taken at the Station. He could see Ron and Hermione behind him, both facing away from him as he looked around the crowd. He realised, quite suddenly, that it was last year, and Sirius was, in his canine glory, sitting at his feet. His breath hitched a little bit. He didn't have many photos of Sirius and himself and yet here was one published for the whole world to see. Smiling, knowing how Sirius would boast of being on the cover of the "Wizarding Best Seller". _Cringe. _

Idly wondering what on Earth the author had filled the book with, he liked to think he was a rather private person; he looked at the contents, glancing up at the office again. _No Malfoy_. Mildly concerned there was a chapter dedicated to his family life he jumped to page twenty-six. He had to bite back the gasp of surprise. There was a photo of an elegant Manor that he was quite sure the Dursley family didn't live in, captioned as the home he'd been sent to after the '_most tragic and heroic deaths of James and Lilly Potter'. _

Trumped up garbage he snorted, and tossed the book back on the shelf, ignoring the shocked look of another customer who looked like she was purchasing six copies. "Have some respect!" She scolded, as he left the bookstore in a decidedly bad mood. What else had Dumbledore neglected to mention in his letters?

Ron and Hermione hadn't even told him though; he bit down the fury at that. No doubt under orders from the all-knowing Headmaster himself. _Too dangerous_! He'd been loitering in the same place of a very public street beside a giant poster of himself for almost a half hour and no one had tried to kill him, smother him with love or shout at him for being out of the house.

Scowling darkly at the crowd he realised that most people didn't really know what he looked like in real life, when the scar was artfully hidden. Of course, the wizarding public would be fooled by Uncle Vernon's old hat collection, wouldn't they?

Surprised at the bitterness in his head, he shifted uncomfortably. This was not the place for such thoughts. He looked back to the office building, this time pleased to see Draco Malfoy exiting, leaning heavily on the cane, that Harry now realised had probably been his father's. It wasn't the same one he'd seen during his second year, but he didn't put it past Lucius to have several. He seemed like the type to redecorate the house to match his mood. _Vanity. _

Harry was not surprised when Malfoy did not turn into Diagon Alley, but moved further into the narrow Telic Alley, and around a corner. Keeping a slight distance, he followed, observing the way Malfoy would stumble then pull himself together briskly, hand clutching at his pockets as if looking for something, and empty potion vial in one hand. The Malfoy heir, well, perhaps he was the Head of Malfoy house now, moved between two stores and leant on the back wall, looking much worse for wear. Cautious, with his wand hidden in the sleeve of his loose jacket, Harry moved into the laneway as well. From the edge of the street he could see that Draco had slumped to the floor and was removing his cloak, sweat glistening on his forehead, mumbling to himself.

His foot kicked something, and it was followed by a tinkling noise that sounded like glass rolling across the cobbed floor. Malfoy's head snapped up, his shoulders straightened and his wand was pointing at Harry before he'd had the chance to realise that he'd kicked one of the empty potion vials that had fallen from Malfoy's grasp. _Curious. _

The boy regarded Harry for a moment, and then to his absolute shock, lowered his wand and sheathed it in a holster at his wrist. "Can't keep yourself out of anyone else's business for three minutes can you, Potter?" He sneered, as he stood up, using the wall to support him.

"Are you alright, Malfoy?" Harry decided to ignore Malfoy's jibe, realising that for once he really couldn't explain away following Malfoy into a deserted laneway. Noticing belatedly that it could have been a trap, he kept his wand out, looked around to reassure himself there was nothing but the two of them and a few bins there.

Malfoy snorted. "Of please, Potter! You expect me to believe you've come to play hero to the dark wizard Malfoy. Why are you actually here?"

Harry noted that he hadn't answered the question, but was instead reaching for his cloak again, looking distracted. "Oh shut up." Harry said as he moved forward. "I'm here to find out what the hell you're doing."

"Which naturally would have to be your business?" Malfoy sounded amused, as he flicked his wand out into his hand around, giving up on his endless search through the pockets of his cloak. Harry didn't trust him, how did he know the vision was real?

What was he searching for in those pockets?

"I know about your dad." Harry said, deciding to get straight to business. Malfoy continued ignoring him. Raked with anger, he pushed on, "Decide giving Voldemort his life was the ultimate way to serve him, did he?" He regretted it the second the words left his mouth, they _had _betrayed Voldemort hadn't they? Well, he didn't know that. He couldn't take the outburst back now.

He knew he hit a sore point in the way that Malfoy instantly stiffened, and raised his wand to aim for Harry's head. "Name your source." He demanded, venomously. He moved so quickly the dark-haired teenager flinched.

"Not until you tell me what game you're playing at Malfoy," he argued hotly, he had no idea what was really happening, "I don't trust you as far as I can throw you."

Malfoy pushed himself off the wall, and faltered slightly from the sudden weight on his leg. His hand went straight for his pocket, made it halfway and fell back to his side.

"You don't know anything." He shot at Harry. "You don't..." He took another step, and Harry saw his knees buckle. Malfoy's eyes widened, "Go away." He almost sounded like he was begging.

"Malfoy?" Shocked at the new turn his detective work had taken, Harry shuffled forward, wand still trained at his opponent.

With a glare that would have made Snape proud, the Malfoy boy somehow managed to look dignified when he collapsed to his knees.

"What the hell happened to you?" Harry asked roughly, as he moved further forward. "I know you weren't injured too badly by Voldemort, except for your leg. Where the hell did that cut come from? And these bruises?"

Malfoy stared at him, wide eyed. "Wh-what?"

OoOoOoO

He was getting pretty tired of Potter's stupid questions, but his eyes widened when he realised Harry seemed to know what had transpired in that room. Only he, his father and Voldemort had been there. Was his father alive then? Had he told someone? A tiny burst of hope sprung up from somewhere. He felt like crying.

"How do you know that Potter?" He whispered. For some reason he couldn't see properly, things were blurry. Why did this have to happen now? He'd been running on potions for almost twelve hours, and he'd barely had the energy to keep up his healing spells, moving constantly to avoid his enemies, so unsure of who was his ally, and absolutely, resolutely refusing to run to Dumbledore until he was literally bleeding to death with no hope. He was actually surprised he'd lasted this long.

Potter must have sensed his hope because his voice sounded grim, "Your father's dead." Draco flinched, his hope blasted out of him and he idly realised he'd been hoping that somehow his father had managed to slip from the Dark Lord's grasp all this time. To his complete horror he let out a strangled sob, eyes closed so he didn't have to look at Potter. He squeezed his hands into fists and sighed. _Hope. Nothingness. _It was all the same anyway. A hand settled on his shoulder, "I'm...uh...sorry."

_Stupid Potter. _

"I don't need your sympathy, Golden Boy." Draco shoved the hand off him. Bloody Gryffindors and their bloody saving people thing. _Fickle. _Potter wouldn't have even cared if he hadn't seen him looking like death warmed over, which, he admitted idly to himself, he rather felt.

"You do need my help though, Malfoy." Draco's eyes opened to see Potter standing before him, looking about as miserable about that fact as Draco felt. "I don't like you all that much, ferret, but I won't leave you here to die."

Malfoy rolled his eyes despite himself, "No need to be so bloody dramatic, Potter." He did have a moment, however, to be struck by the irony of that statement, as his vision tunnelled dangerously.

The walls on either side of them tilted to his left, and strong hands caught him just before he face-planted onto the dirty floor.

- TBC -

So...is anyone reading this?


	5. Beginnings Become Battles

**A/N: **Firstly, thank you so much to those who have reviewed or added this story to their alerts. You guys are beyond amazing!

_A quick note on Harry's characterisation_: I have edited the last chapter to get across my intentions better as a reviewer, kb, kindly pointed out that it wasn't clearly expressed. The story HAS NOT changed at all, I just added in a few sentences to clarify – the effect is that Harry was trying to push Draco into revealing what he was doing. Harry has quite a reactive personality and he tends to anger quickly over issues that he's been suppressing long-term, like his visions or his saving people thing. He didn't mean to hurt Draco, he's just trying to protect himself from being deceived again. His gullibility killed Sirius, in his own mind. How could he not be wary of his visions? I'm sorry about the confusion. Thanks again to kb!

Harry and Draco both still don't trust or like each other at this stage, and neither has a reason to change...yet.

**Chapter Five: Beginnings become Battles**

Harry wasn't all that surprised when Malfoy slumped forward in dead faint. What did surprise him was the fact that he caught him in a firm grip. Gently lowering his classmate to the floor he looked over him, free of the snarky comments that had been distracting him.

Malfoy's face was paler than usual, which Harry hardly thought possible. Malfoy usually looked like he had no blood to warm the colour of his cheeks. Today, his skin was icy to touch, _cold blooded like a snake. _Harry started at the venomous thought and quickly shook it from his head. Rolling Malfoy onto his back he saw the bloody wound on his leg was still bleeding, seeping blood, though it was half-healed. Magically healed Harry supposed, because he doubted a cut that size would have sealed since last night. Why hadn't Malfoy bothered to finish it? Why hadn't he healed the wound on his neck either? Which, with a shiver, Harry realised was clearly meant to kill. Who was hunting a teenager with such malice?

Venomous thoughts slipped away, Malfoy looked almost _childlike? _Revolted that someone had tried to _decapitate _a teenager, Harry wondered who had been on the other end of the curse.

No need to answer that question, he supposed, as he looked around, at a loss for what to do. Voldemort was behind everything one way or another. The bustling street beyond the laneway was going on without noticing his dilemma. Was he allowed to use magic here, given that it might be required to save a life? Should he get help? He discarded that thought, how could he know a Death Eater from a Good Samaritan here? Carefully, he raised his wand and cast a quick healing spell on the leg wound. His heart skipped a beat. Had he just been expelled for trying to save Malfoy's life? He waited a heartbeat as he noticed how unnatural it felt to think of Malfoy as someone who needed saving from anything but himself.

Nothing happened, no owls attacked him, and the bustling street outside did not stop to notice him. Cautiously, he healed the rest of the wound, and then looked at Malfoy's neck. He wasn't game to try that one. His half-hearted effort in Charms class last year gave him no confidence that his healing charm wouldn't go wrong and kill Malfoy after all the effort he'd already gone to. Still, he figured he could make a bit of difference with the bunch of smaller cuts all over his limbs...he looked like he'd taken a glass door at speed, and he paused when he realised it was possible.

Wondering what else he should do, he checked Malfoy's pulse. It was weak, probably from exhaustion and under-nutrition. Harry figured Malfoy hadn't been home since whatever it was had happened.

He pulled Malfoy's cloak around the boy a little tighter. A clinking noise drew his hand to the pocket. Turning the tiny glass vial in his fingers, he opened one of the empty potion vials, trying to decipher its contents...cinnamon? What on Earth? He'd never heard of a potion that used cinnamon and healing potions were always burningly painful to drink, in his extensive experience. Though, he very much doubted Malfoy carried it to season his toast when wandering far from home.

Deciding the Ministry had decided to ignore his errant spell-casting, he added a slight warming charm that Hermione had taught him before a particularly stormy Quidditch match, then he sat down and waited. What could he do? He could hardly carry on unconscious Draco Malfoy around the wizarding world without attracting some attention, and he was rather loathe to call for help and then have to explain his presence in Diagon Alley, on the off chance no one had realised his little jail-break was underway.

His musing was interrupted by the sudden movement of Malfoy snapping into a sitting position, then falling back down. In a panic, the boy was already wielding his wand, through his hex, which Harry noted was non-verbal, went wide. "Relax ferret, it's just me."

Neither of them ever thought they'd live to see the day that Malfoy relaxed in the presence of Harry Potter. Harry made a mental note to check the temperature in hell, maybe it had frozen over without them noticing.

Malfoy sat up more slowly this time; his eyes went from his leg to Harry and back again, narrowed. "Why did you heal me?"

Harry shrugged, unsure of what to do now that his patient was sitting up and glaring daggers at him. How was this conversation meant to go considering the two people participating? Malfoy ran his fingers of the cut at his neck, and shot him a questioning glance and he answered honestly, "I didn't trust myself not to make a mistake..."

Malfoy's eyes widened, "You decided to perform amateur healing on me?" With a pained sigh, he ran his hands over his leg, "did you permanently cripple me then?"

"No!" Indignant, he crossed his arms, "I'm trying to help, you stuck up little Death Eater, so why don't you try being a little bit grateful?" He realised belatedly that Draco wasn't his enemy anymore.

Malfoy regarded him with an amused smile, "I thought," He said primly, "that we had established I'm not a Death Eater." He motioned to the tattered rip on his pants, "And furthermore, I wasn't reprimanding you. I'm encouraging you to use that tiny thing in your head that less talented wizards than myself call a brain. A wrongly worded healing charm could have permanently welded the muscle and _that_ might have rendered my leg useless. Forgive me if I expect a little saving from my high and mighty saviour."

Harry hadn't known that, but there was no way he was going to let Malfoy know he was anything less than confidant in his abilities. "So you admit you need saving then?" He asked.

Malfoy faltered. "I'll admit even you, Scarhead, have your uses."

Harry snorted, "Just so you know, I'm taking that as a thank you."

Eyes rolled in response, "Yes, you do like to think everyone's grateful for your presence, don't you?"

Harry smirked, "More than they are about yours, that's for sure."

They shot each other smug glares, which then turned to surprise. Harry tried to fight back a smile, had he and Malfoy just been bantering rather than bickering? Malfoy, however, was already moving to stand, having decided all this wonderful bonding was going to make him sick.

Harry carefully stood as well, wondering at what point he'd wrapped a hand around Malfoy's arm to steady him. "Well, where are we going then?"

"We?" Malfoy sounded tired.

"Well, we've established I'm saving you," Harry reasoned, figuring that Malfoy could do less damage if someone was watching him, "and if you die because I leave halfway through it would taint my reputation."

Malfoy snorted, "Fine, but this doesn't mean I like you, or want to talk to you, or touch you, or breathe the same air as you," He fixed a steady gaze towards Diagon Alley, "and under no circumstances will you _ever _mention this... this _incident..._ to any of your mudbloods or blood traitors."

Harry let go of his arm immediately, reminded of how much he hated Malfoy, and nodded, "Say that again and I'll take the details to Rita Skeeter." He neglected to mention that Rita could possibly still be residing in a glass jar in the Granger household.

"Well, lead the way." Malfoy waved a hand to the Alley.

"What do you mean?" Harry asked quickly.

"You're saving me, Potter," came the response as Malfoy started an unsteady walk back to the street, "which means you come up with the plans, and I criticise them."

OoOoOoO

Scarhead was off down Diagon Alley at a brisk pace, and Draco struggled to keep up but refused to call after him. He was still weak, but he'd saved all his money for Trotters. He needed those vaults in his name, and so he'd barely eaten or slept, or stopped for a rest since racing out of his own home, chased by his Godfather's fury. _Unfortunate. _

They were headed to the Leaky Cauldron he realised, with a twinge of irritation. "Have you always been this unbelievably stupid or do you practice?" Scarhead spun around, and Draco was pleased to have provoked him, so he continued, "Or perhaps you inherited the trait from your impossibly stupid father?"

"What is it now Malfoy?" Potter spat, crossing his arms, and ignoring the stares of a few passers-by.

Malfoy rolled his cane in his fingers, remember how his father had used to do that when he was irritated with him, "The Leaky Cauldron?" He lowered his voice to barely a whisper, so the retched boy-hero had to lean in closer to hear him, "You don't think He won't find us there? Or any of your little friends – who I note aren't attached to you like limpets? Finally decided your ego needs the space?"

Potter paused, obviously torn between defending his decision and defending his friends.

"I cannot believe you." Draco continued, in a very Lucius-like manner, "Have you no subtlety?" He motioned to Knockturn Alley. "That's the safer route."

Scarhead snorted, "Right, amongst the Death Eaters and their lackeys."

Draco was suddenly hit with the overwhelming urge to wail piteously and bury his head in his hands. "You, Potter, are really something."

"What does that mean?" Came the furiously whispered response as they ducked to the side of the street to avoid curious stares.

"Don't you ever wonder why, if it's so obvious that Death Eaters frequent Knockturn Alley that the Aurors haven't just strolled in and arrested everyone?" He sucked in a deep breath, "Especially when they're in need a real win, a real trial. I heard you on the Knight bus; surely Knockturn Alley would have something juicier than Stan Shunpike's _charming_ face?" With that, he pulled Potter's arm and steered them into the narrow entrance, dodging an old woman offering them toenails at outrageously discounted prices.

"I didn't really think about-."

"Well of course _you_ didn't." Draco shot back, wondering how Dumbledore hadn't bothered to impress any intelligence into his poster boy, "You don't seem to think about much, and if I were you wouldn't be letting my mind wander either, it's far too small to be out alone."

Potter looked like he was about to blow something up, so Malfoy carefully retreated from this dangerous territory, not wanting to draw too much attention. "I doubt many people think about it." He said, watching Potter narrow his eyes, "and there's a good reason for it, unless you're actually in Knockturn Alley, it tends to slip from your mind."

"What do you mean?" Good, Potter's curiosity had bludgeoned his rage for the moment

"Are you a wizard?" Malfoy asked trying not to sound too harsh, "Notice-me-not charms, all sorts of wards," he paused as a group of darkly dressed witches moved past them. "You can't attack what you can't see." He moved to a stone wall, and Potter sent him an impatient look. "Besides, an auror sticks out like a sore thumb," He motioned to a darkly dressed wizard bargaining over the price of fingernails. Harry sent him a bewildered look. "No one actually buys fingernails." Draco said like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"They don't?"

"Well of course not! Good fingernails have to be fresh," Draco leant on the wall, focusing on his breathing for a second. Then, with a vicious smirk he added, "and preferably bloody." It was a lie, but he enjoyed the horror on Potter's face so much it was worth it. In truth, blood and fingernails rarely worked well in potions together, and what other use was there, except for a bunch of old amulets he'd rather not get into?

Potter stood nervously beside him, watching the auror, and the way other wizards around him seemed to give him a wide berth. Then he turned back to Draco expectantly, "So if not my idea, what's yours?"

Draco shrugged. "Don't you have kittens to rescue and photo-ops to pose for?"

"I'd rather know what you're up to." Came the curt response.

Draco scowled, "Looking into pest management, I seem to have a problem I can't be rid of."

"I'm trying to help you here!" Potter was clearly at the end of the tether. Good. _Push him further_. Draco opened his mouth to respond, but Potter kept talking over him, "I know you betrayed him, you think anyone else is going to believe you? You need me Malfoy."

He paused. How in Merlin's name had Potter known all of this? "What's in it for you?" He tensed.

Potter jerked, suddenly realising just who he was trying to convince to trust him. "Teach me." He said simply, looking Draco in the eye, daring him to disagree. "You said it yourself, I don't know much about the wizarding world, and I will need to, if I'm going to have a fair shot at..." He trailed off, and Draco's eyes narrowed, that slip was instantly stored away for future investigation.

"Information for safety?" He clarified, churning over Potter's slip of the tongue with narrowed eyes.

Potter nodded, looking nervous. "And you will guarantee, to the best of your measly ability, that I will be safe from your type at Hogwarts?" He pushed a little further, now he had a bargaining chip he would milk it for all it was worth.

Another nod answered his question. "Vouch for me if necessary? Keep your poor weasel from snivelling near me, and your filthy mudb-." A fist connected with his jaw and the world spun of its axis.

"Say it again Malfoy, I dare you."

Draco was abruptly reminded of the thousands of hexes that had been sent at him over the years, every time he used the word _muggle _instead of mudblood; when his mind wandered; when he didn't get the top grade in class; and the last time, when he didn't run fast enough. It was an odd feeling, which made him long for his father's strict guidance.

"Fine," he spat blood into his handkerchief and vanished it instantly, knowing someone could make good on their threats to curse him with it, "I won't say it, but you'll keep up your end of the bargain just the same."

Potter's hand struck his in a firm handshake, and he wondered if he wasn't better off with the Dark Lord.

Harry _bloody _Potter of all people.

Merlin, what _was _he thinking?

OoOoOoOoO

The split second decision made him a little uncomfortable, but Harry figured it was the best he could do. He needed something other than the scraps of information that Dumbledore was half-heartedly feeding him, and everyone he knew was too trusting of Dumbledore to help him out.

He knew they were trying to protect him, and of course, he understood the sentiment, but a lack of information had led to Sirius' death last year, and he was determined to make sure he learnt from that mistake. Besides, he was still angry with them, especially Hermione and Ron, for not writing to him yet. Jealousy tore through him at that thought; no doubt they were together somewhere exciting, their small and vague letters had indicated something like that.

Besides, the enemy of his enemy was his friend, right? Well, maybe not with Malfoy, but at least the little sneak could do less damage under Harry's watchful eye. They stood in awkward silence for a moment, hiding beside an apothecary.

"Well," Malfoy said simply, "School starts tomorrow, so I'll see you then." He pushed Harry away, but Harry grabbed him and shoved him back.

"No way, you're not going off like that again, you'll faint."

"Malfoys don't _faint." _How dare he?

"What do you call it then?"

"It doesn't matter, because I'm leaving." He tried to push him away again but Harry stood firm.

"Shut up ferret."

"Well then what do you propose we do, Scarhead? I'm not dragging you around Knockturn Alley all night." Harry hesitated, from the look of Malfoy he'd be down for the count within hours. Was that pity he felt? At least the Dursley's was warm, and safe, if a little lonely and agonisingly isolated.

"Why haven't you been home?" He asked, and Malfoy's look of exasperation made him wonder what he'd done this time.

"It really would take divine intervention to make you intelligent wouldn't it, Potter?" The boy in question adjusted his weight on his feet, and Harry tried not to notice his slightly glassy eyes. "Malfoy Manor has had hundreds of guests, most of them my enemies, either the do-gooders at the Ministry convinced we eat Mu-," His breath hitched, and Harry wondered if he was remembering the punch Harry had just delivered, "muggle children for breakfast, or the Dark Lord's servants, hunting me for my betrayal. They know where it is, and they've probably obliterated what's left of the wards." So he couldn't go back, Harry realised. Feeling bizarrely responsible for his classmate until school went back, he stared at Malfoy awkwardly.

"I live with my muggle family," he offered, Malfoy's lips curled in distaste, "but I can't take you there."

Malfoy huffed, "Why would I want to go there? I'd prefer even your filthy mutt over _muggles_."

"Don't call him that." Harry said sharply, "and why not go to one of your other houses?" Harry remembered the boy boasting of their summer homes all dotted about the countryside.

"They were in my father's name, frozen until I can prove his death."

"Oh."

Malfoy was obviously losing patience, so Harry hurried into his plan half-heartedly, it had all sounded so good when he wasn't actually with the detestable boy who flinched whenever he said muggle, "I was going to stay in the Leaky Cauldron tonight, I've got my Uncle bringing my trunk tonight when he comes for a business meeting," He neglected to add it had cost him nearly one hundred pounds to convince his Uncle to make the additional five minute detour, but it was worth it, he felt. "So I've already booked a room under a false name..." He made a face as Malfoy seemed to realise he wasn't the only one running from someone.

"I see a situation of mutual benefits," Malfoy said, his scheming face lit up with the joy of solving a problem, he almost looked like Hermione, "your limpets –oh, fine: _friends – _are looking for a lonely little hero moping in his own self-pity," he stopped to revel in the satisfaction of Harry's anger, so Harry took the opportunity to turn the tides.

"And if you had any friends, they'd probably be looking for a pathetic traitor who can't stand up straight."

Malfoy merely smiled at the rebuttal though and it only made Harry want to punch him again.

"But no one is looking for the two of us..._together." _Malfoy's triumphant smile was all Harry needed to disagree. He'd rather not have Malfoy murdering him in his sleep.

"No way in hell."

Malfoy looked disgusted, "I don't plan on letting you anywhere near me when I'm asleep, Potter. I'm merely suggested that we move as a unit until we make it to the train tomorrow, that way no one gets caught." Harry nodded, it made sense.

"We have to get my stuff, so Leaky Cauldron." He left no room to argue as he walked back into the Diagon Alley, with Malfoy hissing his warnings after him about how stupid he was.

Nothing was going to happen, he figured, after all he'd been there all day. What he hadn't counted on was, though, that he was arguing with Malfoy of all people very openly not twenty minutes before.

"Potter!" Cringing he knew he'd been found out and he saw out of the corner of his eye, as Malfoy tried to melt back into the crowd, his hand pulling at Harry's arm in haste. "_Crucio!" _He braced himself.

He didn't know how the screams had started at first, but Malfoy's hand slipped from his arm and he realised belatedly his companion was writhing on the ground, biting his lip so hard it was bleeding, but all around them was panic as Death Eaters in masks, in perfect triangle formation, appeared before them.

Ducking immediately, to avoid another curse as the Alley quickly emptied of shoppers, and a few adults stayed to fight back, Harry pulled Malfoy closer to him and shuffled his rigid body behind the upturned tables of a cafe. Panting hard, Malfoy sat up, wiped his bloody chin with the back of his hand and pulled himself away from Harry with a groan.

"How many?" he asked instead of risking his neck by peeking out from their safety. Harry, however, had no such qualms, and tossed a few stunning curses, then a disarming spell over the top of Malfoy's head into the fray, which was pressing towards them.

"Seven, maybe eight." Harry replied, "You good to fight?" He didn't wait for a response, he was already moving from behind their shelter with a shield raised.

OoOoOoO

Everything hurt. Draco hadn't meant to take the curse for Scarhead, he'd just been so focused on getting them out of the fray that somehow he'd gotten between it and its intended target. His fingers had a slight tingle in them, and his lip must be bruised and swollen. He knew he shouldn't worry about it now but a part of his was horrified to think of how he looked. _Undignified. _

Shooting an incredulous look at Potter, who was off with a fighting spirit, he tried to make a plan. He would not be charging out there like a giant in a rage. Seven opponents wasn't too many, by the sounds of things at least one was already down, and Potter had four other shoppers helping him out. He could see a few limps bodies on the far side of the cafe, and looked away.

When an explosion sounded somewhere further away he chanced a look out of his safety. Potter was fighting three and losing. _Typical. _He'd be sorely mistaken if he thought Draco was going to help him out, they'd already established their roles, Draco was the rescued not the rescuer. He settled back under his table. Still, he supposed he did have a debt of some sort, for Potter healing him before. Repulsion swept through his body, he needed to settle that debt, and soon. He didn't like owing things to anyone, especially not arrogant lions who didn't know anything about him.

Decision made and against his better judgement, he coiled the illusion charm again, and his curse hit one of the death eaters from the other side of the Alley. The blasting curse blew the man off his feet, shot him over twenty feet away from his original position, and it was then that Draco realised his mistake, as the death eater rolled over and came eye to eye with him.

He had a shield up instantly as he tried to scurry backwards, but the curse went through it. It was non-verbal but he recognised it the second hot, burning pain rippled into his body.

His body jerked so abruptly he slammed his head onto the ground and thought was gone, so gone. There was nothing but pain, his life slipped away from his mind like it was a dream he'd had once. This burning feeling was all he'd known, all that had ever been. Darkness and agony. Sweet, burning agony. The half-healed cut across his neck stretched as he moaned, and the skin tore easily again, blood rushing out, but the open wound only let more pain in.

Was he even alive? Was this eternal torment his life? What was happening?

The feeling started to trickle away, and he had hope, a crash sounded somewhere. Then the curse was renewed, with more passion this time, and he surrendered to the driving, rippling, tearing of his muscles. His fingers scraped at the cobbled floor beneath him, he hadn't even felt that before...

OoOoOoO

Harry dodged another hex. He'd fought before but this was too many, they were ganging up on him. A cutting curse had already taking a sizeable chunk out of his side, and another spell had broken his fingers. Three of the masked terrors had sought him out immediately, one was already down from the expertise of one the other wizards who'd jumped into the fray, his shopping was scattered on the ground at their feet.

The other three death eaters were engaged with their own opponents, one of them was against two witches who had been in the cafe when they struck, neither were strong fighters but together they were struggling through it. Where was Malfoy? He really needed a bit of help from little sneak now. His prayers were answered when a blasting charm hit one of the Death Eaters, he saw Malfoy from the corner of his eye, casting the spell, but could barely contain his surprise when it came from the opposite direction.

Ducking under their companion's flying body, the remaining two renewed their efforts. Kicking one in the face as she tried to stand from her crouch, Harry felt some satisfaction that her nose broke under his sneaker as he already had pointed his wand at the other and shouted out a stunning spell, which struck his target.

Taking a quick chance to look over, he saw the Death Eater leaning over Malfoy, who was half crawling, half writhing, eyes shut against the world, teeth jammed into his lip. He shot a spell that went wild but distracted Malfoy's tormentor for a moment, as his own opponent swept his legs out from underneath him when she struggled to stand, he realised it was not long enough. Malfoy's screams shattered the air.

Someone grabbed his ankle and he went toppling to the ground on top of his opponent. Grappling for power, a wand was wrenched away from her hands, a foot left a bruise on his shin. Someone - Malfoy - was still screaming. He wasn't the only one.

Her elbow jabbed into Harry's stomach. He instinctively curled forwards, his head slammed into hers and he used the momentary distraction to press his wand to her temple and whisper a binding curse.

Panting he rolled onto the ground and stared at the sky.

It took him a heartbeat to realise the sound of screaming had died. The shock had him on his feet before the second heartbeat had the chance to sound. His knees felt weak with the sight he saw. Uniformed wizards were in control.

The sound of apparition was a blessed one, as Aurors in their bright uniforms swarmed into the Alley, and one of them immediately grabbed his incapacitated opponent and stripped her mask. Harry recognised a seventh year Ravenclaw with some surprise, but was too distracted to recall her name.

Ignoring the shouting now going on around him he moved towards his downed classmate, who, though released from his curse, was curled on the floor hands clutching his own cloak like a safety blanket. Shaking.

Unsure what to do he stretched out his hands and rolled Malfoy on his back, who seemed too tired to resist. "Why did you take that first curse for me?" He whispered, he'd been so surprised when he realised what had happened. He hardly noticed his hands were bloody, as the cut on Malfoy's neck spilled blood everywhere. Malfoy's grey eyes cracked open and looked blankly at him, for a moment Harry's heart stopped as he thought of the Longbottoms in their private ward.

"I didn't mean to." The honest reply startled him; he'd never heard him sound so open, so _vulnerable. _With trembling arms, no, his whole body was trembling, quaking like a leaf in the wind; Malfoy sat up and took a deep breath. "I told you Knockturn would be safer."

Harry amusedly noticed that Malfoy's voice lacked it usual smugness, as a medi-witch hurried up to them, carrying a red box and a wand that was already performing diagnostic charms. "So much for being unnoticed," Malfoy added simply, as he lay back on the ground, looking resigned to something. Harry wondered what for?

"My, my, Mister Potter!" She fussed, as the pain in his fingers went numb. He flexed them carefully and saw they were healed. Anger flashed up inside him as he realised Malfoy was still lying on the floor. The pale boy looked smaller than he normally did, and no one was even trying to look after him. Blood mingled with his blonde hair; it glistened in the late afternoon sun. The medi-witch was fussing over Harry, tutting about letting him wander alone, praising him for his bravery and subtly slipping hints that she had a daughter his age: "Though, I'm sure you're not short of lovely young ladies," she nattered, "You'll have to be careful about them, my boy, now my Rosilynn-."

Harry blocked her out, staring at Draco Malfoy as he breathed in and out slowly, deliberately. He remembered the last time he'd suffered the curse. Sympathy and anger mixed in his mind. He had never hated anyone so much as he hated this women who was ignoring Malfoy. He'd never hated his fame so much. He never hated Malfoy so much for not demanding the healer's attention.

He shook her hands off and pointed wordlessly to his companion. Since when had he been _protective _of Draco _bloody _Malfoy?

- TBC -

A longer chapter to say thank you for your reviews and support. :)

Please review and let me know what you're thinking?


	6. Fights of Forgiveness

**Chapter Six: Fights of Forgiveness**

Crisp, cool sheets underneath his head made him sigh, as he turned his face towards the warm glow of a fireplace, he could hear the crackling wood somewhere. He didn't open his eyes, as he focused on the delicious feeling of melting into the sheets. A gentle breeze tickled his hair and he shifted slightly, burrowing further into the sheets.

Everything was perfect.

He breathed in.

Then out.

Then, a niggling thought at the back of his mind gently rang out; there was something that he should be thinking about. Well, he figured, he could hardly deal with it whilst he was in bed, so as long as he didn't move he didn't need to think about Draco Malfoy..._Draco Malfoy? _Why did he need to -?

Harry Potter was out of bed so fast that he didn't even remember the act of moving. One second he'd been dreamily huddled in his sheets and the next he was standing beside his bed in the Hospital Wing of Hogwarts with wild eyes. He didn't even remember the moment he decided to move, nor how when the events of Diagon Alley had flooded back into his head.

"Mr. Potter?" The voice sounded so relieved, "I'm glad to see you're awake."

Harry spun around to see the gentle smile of Madam Pomfrey gazing at him as she hurried over to him. Feeling somewhat foolish for his momentary panic he sat on the edge of the bed to avoid her wrath, and looked around him. The hospital wing was empty, save for one other bed on the other end of the room, where he could see pale blonde hair swaying in the same breeze that came from the open window, dusk lingered outside the castle walls.

"What happened?" He remembered wordlessly pointing at Malfoy when the healer had not even glanced at him, and with a blush remembered his strong urge to protect the other boy. _Protect. _Still, he figured that he'd have felt the same way about anyone who was suffering because a witch was too focused on the 'Boy-Who-Lived' _– boy who existed – _to help them. Besides, however unintentionally, Malfoy had taken a hit for him, and then helped in Harry's duel to his own destruction. _Sacrifice. _

"You were attacked in Diagon Alley, I'm not sure if you're aware but young Mr Malfoy was also...caught up in things." She paused and they both looked at the still figure on the bed so far away, she carried on before he could ask after him, - _distraction -_ "The medi-witch who attended to you felt you were suffering from a bit of shock after she healed you, it's not uncommon, but you were a bit agitated. She gave you a sleeping potion before Professor Dumbledore brought the two of you here." She obviously approved of this decision, "It's all perfectly normal Mr Potter, how are you feeling?"

"Fine," he answered honestly, "How's Malfoy?"

The matron gave him a sad smile, "He was subjected to some serious curses, and you understand the details are for Mr Malfoy to share with those he chooses." She took pity on Harry's concern, "He'll be alright with some proper sleep, potions and a bit of caring nurture. Not to mention a proper meal!" As though thought had reminded her, which Harry grimaced when he realised it had, she waved her wand and a house-elf bearing a tray of soup, crackers and warm tea appeared at the foot of the bed.

"Harry Potter, sir!" Came the delighted cry, "Dobby is so pleased to see Harry Potter sir up and about, sir! Winky is saying it'll be days before he is, but Dobby is believing the Great Harry Potter, sir, cannot be so hurt by bad wizards!"

In a flash of multicoloured socks, and a tea-cosy that served as a lurid hat, Dobby all but bounced to Harry's side, magicking up a small table across his lap as he set the tray of food down.

Harry found it hard not grin, Dobby's unabashed adulation, whilst generally exasperating to deal with, was a joyous welcome back to his home, Hogwarts. He hadn't realised how badly he'd missed it all, though, given his desperation in talking to Malfoy, it really should have been obvious before. Suddenly the whole charade they'd played seemed so silly, two desperately lonely boys, cut off from the outside world for so long clinging to the first lifeboat that had happened to drift their way. On the other hand of course, he'd made an interesting ally, one that was openly honest – even if he was a prat. Malfoy would be willing to discuss the things about the wizarding world he couldn't ask anyone else.

"Hello Dobby." He gazed down at the wide tennis-ball eyes that watered as he continued, "thanks for this, it looks great."

A familiar wail met his ears as Dobby pulled on the tea-cosy that crowned his head and threw himself to his knees before him. "Oh the Great Harry Potter, sir, is too kind to remember Dobby, and to be thanking him, like an equal. Dobby knows it is too much!" He pounded his tiny fists into the floor, but was abruptly silenced by Madam Pomfrey's harsh chastisement that her patient required peace and quiet.

With a horrified gasp the elf vanished, "you didn't need to be so harsh," Harry said, "he'll be pounding his head on frying pans all night now." She gave him an odd look, which clearly said he ought to be if he thought yelling in an infirmary was a good idea.

Recognising defeat where he saw it and knowing Hermione would've kicked up a fuss unlike any other; he turned back to his meal. He was hungry.

The doors opened as his spoon made it to his mouth.

"Ah, Harry my boy! I had hoped to get here before you awoke." Purple robes rippled as the kindly old man conjured a chintz armchair and settled down beside his bed.

"Professor." Harry responded quietly, turning his soup over and over with his spoon, watching it dribble back to the bowl.

"I'm sorry I couldn't come sooner," his guest continued, "the Ministry was in quite the kafuffle after the incident at Diagon Alley."

Harry nodded in understanding, eyes wandered back to Malfoy's still form at the other end of the hospital wing.

Wizened eyes watched him over steepled fingers. "You understand why I thought it might be best you stayed away from Wizarding London, Harry?"

"I had to," Harry mumbled, spoon twirled in his fingers.

"I had offered to go to the Legal offices for you."

Harry shrugged, what was he meant to say to that? Trust was meant to go both ways. _Broken. _

A heavy sigh came from the Headmaster as he leant back against the chair; shoulders slumped slightly under the weight of the world, "I see now I have let you down."

Harry looked up; Dumbledore's blue eyes met his. "Could you forgive an old man for his many mistakes?"

A beat a silence, Harry wondered if he could, but the sting of Sirius's shocked face as it melted back into the veil quickly killed the thought. "Professor?"

"Yes, Harry?"

"I...I used magic today, in the Alley, before the fighting started." His eyes flickered back to Malfoy, "I wanted to help so I did some healing charms, but the Ministry didn't expel me."

"Harry, the Ministry was exceptionally busy today. There were four attacks across the country," Dumbledore looked tired, "I've spoken the Minister on your behalf and he assures me that you will not be cautioned so long as it does not happen again."

Harry nodded, feeling a little warmer towards his mentor as the man smiled. "Your friends have been so anxious to see you, my lad, but I must ask before I send for them: is there anything you'd like to tell me?"

His eyes bore into Harry's soul and the younger wizard wondered if Dumbledore didn't somehow know about the vision of Lucius Malfoy or the pact with his son.

"No, sir." He said quietly, and they all knew it was a lie.

A nod, a gentle pat on the shoulder and he was left alone to enjoy his soup.

OoOoOoO

Voices were shouting. Lots of voices, lots of shouting. He kept still, and slowed his breathing so that he would look - to the peaceful observer - as if he were asleep. The throbbing in his head was only made worse by the high-pitched yelling.

"How could you be so stupid Harry?" A shrill female voice was all but screaming, echoing around Draco like a storm.

"Stupid?" came the indignant response, "I _had _to do something! You left me nothing! How dare you act like you know what's good for me?"

"Professor Dumbledore-!"

"Is not some all-seeing divinity, Hermione!" He recognised Potter's rough voice, laced with anger, but not the disgust that was usually directed at Draco himself. His mud-, he cringed, thought of how he father would curse him for thinking it, but thought it anyway, _muggle-born_ friend was obviously busy sucking up to authority. _As per usual. _"You could have sent me something! I was ALONE! For the whole _freaking _holidays! And you! You two! Off gallivanting around England together, were you?"

Draco decided to chance opening his eyes, the throbbing in his head hadn't lessened, and he had to squint, his eyes were so blurry. With a groan he sat up, he wasn't shaking anymore, he noted, pleased with this development.

"It _wasn't _safe!" A male voice answered, "Come on, mate, you're being unreasonable!"

Draco deduced from the red blur on the other side of the room that it was the Weasley boy. He didn't have much tact, he noted. _He _definitely wouldn't have said that to a raging Potter. It was like poking a sleeping dragon in the eye. Of course, Gryffindors were fond of that sort of thing weren't they?

"_Unreasonable?" _It sounded like a hiss, and as Draco blinked them into focus he saw both of Potter's devotees had flinched away from him. "My two best friends in the _entire _world left me ALONE in my own personal hell for MONTHS because some old manipulative bat said it was DANGEROUS to send a letter saying HELLO, and I'm being UNREASONABLE!" Something smashed, the only window, just by Draco's bed, and all three snapped their heads towards him like he'd done it, not Potter's uncontrollable wild magic.

"Do me a favour," Draco drawled, knowing that years of practice would not let his pain show on the outside, "and do shut up. Just because you're tainting the room with your presence, doesn't mean I need you tainting the silence."

A balled up wad of a newspaper came flying at him. He almost flinched; his father had done the same thing a week ago when trying to get his attention. _Memories. _He took a moment sneer his disdain at Weasley, who looked satisfied with the shot. Don't think about that night, _denial. _"Bravo, Weasel." Draco said, settling back in the pillows casually his eyes straying to Potter, who looked mildly amused by his indifference, "I think I almost felt that."

Potter snorted, and ran a hand through his hair, messing it up. A nervous habit Draco had once had. He had the scars across his back to remind him that he didn't have it any more. His father had protested that lesson, too.

"What is it, Harry?" Granger had her attention back on Potter.

"Leave Malfoy alone, Ron." Potter said, "He's not worth it." Draco might have been insulted, had be not seen the smile Potter shot him, filled with concern. Potter clearly hadn't forgotten the curse Draco had taken. Pleased that Potter seemed to think this was some kind of truce, Draco stared avidly at the ceiling, only because he wand was on the bedside table and he was afraid the movement required to get it would make him throw up...or faint, _not that Malfoys faint_.

"Oh, _honestly! _We are sorry we couldn't write more." Granger said quietly, but Draco could hear her just the same. "It's just they wouldn't let us say anything and I thought that you'd appreciate that no news is good news."

_What a completely stupidly ridiculous notion! _Draco snorted in disbelief, and said snidely, "No news definitely doesn't mean good news." Potter locked eyes with him; evidently he felt rather the same way. "No news..." Draco pondered it for a moment. "No news means no one to send news."

"Would you shut up, Malfoy?" Ron hissed as another ball of paper caught Draco's right forearm this time. It was a harder hit this time, but Draco knew not to respond. His didn't move from his frozen glare, except maybe to widen his smirk.

"I'd say you're getting better, but I wouldn't want to give you hope."

Granger scowled behind Weasley and Potter looked notably annoyed. Well, if they hadn't wanted him involved they should have kept their voices down. Where was Pomfrey anyway, shouldn't she be chasing Potter's errant slaves away by now?

Weasley let out a grunt of frustration, "You spineless Death Eater." He accused, "no one here is gonna protect you. You're just a coward, hiding behind You-Know-Who's skirts!"

"No, he's right." Potter was standing up again, "how was I to know you were just ignoring me? Waiting for news that you were alive, and now I find out you were just twiddling your thumbs like good authority worshipping children. Merlin! I can't believe you!" Granger and Weasley were gaping as Potter continued, "I mean hell, even _Malfoy _knew how I was feeling. _Malfoy!" _

Draco waited as the room went silent.

"Well, if that's how you feel." Weasley turned on his heel and left, Granger gave a teary look at Potter and raced after him.

OoOoOoOo

Harry threw himself on the bed in frustration. Malfoy was smirking up at him from the bed beside the smashed window, but he now recognised the mask that was hiding the frown of pain. Who would have thought he'd have learnt to recognise it in less than a day? Was Malfoy really so transparent? Probably not. It had been an incredibly stressing few hours after all.

His argument with Ron and Hermione had been difficult. After explaining that Molly Weasley had brought them to Hogwarts a day early so they could keep him company, rather than coming on the train with their classmates tomorrow, he'd learnt that they'd been together since the first week of the holidays. Then Madam Pomfrey had told them to let themselves out, as she had to attend to pre-school duties, and disappeared, informing them to contact her the moment Malfoy awoke. The Burrow had been spelled for safety for a while, Hermione has said, and then they'd moved to the new Head-quarters, which of course they couldn't reveal the location of. Since then, well all they'd done was the usual holiday things. They'd been to Diagon Alley a few times, and Hermione was teaching Ron some of the more basic pranks Fred and George favoured in their spare time whilst Ron had spent time teaching her wizard card games, though _Exploding Snap _sounded more fun than _Deaths Eaters and Dragons_ to Harry.

It was around that point that they'd started shouting. He hadn't realised how great a gap the isolation had put between him and his friends, and when Malfoy had so easily interpreted the lack of letters and what it had meant to him, well, he realised maybe the pact they'd made wasn't so stupid after all. _Opportune._ At least Malfoy had always been honest, even if it was a nasty honesty. He felt bad about Ron picking on him, but Malfoy had seemed unbothered.

He had to respect the ferret, he hadn't screamed for the first two pain curses in the Alley anyway. The final one though? It still made him shiver to think of.

OoOoOoOoO

The silence of the hospital wing surrounded them for a moment, the Potter moved, quietly, walking across to stand in front of Draco.

"I just uh..." He shifted nervously for a second, "thanks, for you know, accidently saving me." Draco swallowed his surprised and then nodded firmly.

"Sure, Potter." He took a deep breath and then, "We're even?" He couldn't bring himself to thank Potter for all he'd done; he didn't plan on encouraging the self-perpetuating ego, it was probably developing its own gravitational force by now.

Silence settled over them again, and Draco observed that apart from a lack of decent sleep, Potter didn't seem to be injured at all. Life really was unjust.

"Can I ask you something?" Potter said abruptly.

"Do you understand the self-defeating nature of that question, Scarhead?" Draco asked, "I suppose that's too much to hope for. The list of simple things you don't understand is probably too long to speculate upon."

Potter shifted angrily, but then seemed to calm a bit, "What happened? With Voldemort – _it's just a name, Malfoy! _Why did you betray him?"

"That, Potter, is permanently on the list of things I will never tell you." Besides, Draco thought, it was much too long a story, and he wanted to go back to sleep.

"Why not?" Potter pressed, "Come on, Malfoy, enemy of my enemy and all that?"

Draco considered him, "Just because I'd like to boil the skin off the Dark Lord's face doesn't mean I would be doing it to protect your flaky sensibilities. Enemy of my enemy?"

"You know, it's a saying: the enemy of my enemy is my friend. I think it's a muggle thing." Potter shrugged, and his eyes widened a little when a genuine smile crept across Draco's face, which then turned into an amused laugh. "What's so funny?"

"Oh please, Potter, stop!" Draco sucked in a deep breath, "The enemy of my enemy is most certainly not my friend. You might want to re-read your Marchwarden's _Guide to Politics_."

"Marching's what?"

Supposing that Potter still intended to honour his half of their half-insane pact in Knockturn Alley, Draco decided to at least direct the conversation to intelligent waters, "Marchwarden's Guide to Politics, Potter. You ought to know him, he was a mu...muggle-born I think. Yes, I know, even good little pure-bloods read their political literature. My father insisted, because our Ministry is in the shambles, and so few wizards think before they act these days."

"Hermione says that wizards don't use logic."

"Then your mu-...she's right." He ignored Potter's triumphant grin at his quick change in term. "Anyway, it discusses your theory rather briefly. I belief it was to the effect that you should ally with those who you can use to defeat a mutual foe...so long as they won't pose a threat to you once it's all said and done. No need to run around being friends with any old wizard."

"Which could be summarised as: the enemy of my enemy is my friend." Potter retorted triumphantly, apparently unaware Draco has successfully steered the conversation away from awkward questions about his recent turn-coating.

He sent a dark look at the triumphant Potter, "Sure, if you often lead your friends on and then betray them."

"That what you're doing to me then? Using me to stay safe then what? Turn me over to Voldemort, _oh fine_, You-Know-Who?"

Draco raised his eyebrows, "Of course I'm using you Pot-head, but I doubt even your scrawny face would win me back into the Dark Lord's favour."

_Pot-head?_ That was a new one for him. He briefly amused himself by replaced Potter's head for the large ceramic plant pot his mother kept her orchids in.

"Which brings us back to why you betrayed him?" Draco bit back a groan, _useless Gryffindors with no tact_, Potter was apparently smarter than he had originally guessed.

The pounding against his skull made itself known once more, he didn't really feel up to this.

"Father had time for some thinking in Azkaban." He said quietly.

Potter's wide green eyes stared at him with an odd expression on his face, "And?"

"And we changed our minds?" Draco offered.

"I don't believe you."

Draco sighed, "Things get complicated sometimes Potter. Father lost a lot when he went to prison. _We _lost a lot." He remembered his father when he came home, that night, eyes blazing, raging against his old master. He'd been so afraid that his father had finally cracked.

"You didn't change sides because you thought maybe killing people was a bad idea?" Potter shoved himself away from the bed and left Draco in disbelief.

A spike of fear jolted through Draco. He'd tried to answer Potter's questions..._rejection. _No. _Breathe. _

"Potter!" He was sitting upright immediately, head spinning, "Don't you get it? Both sides are killing people! It's not black and white, the _light _side comes with its own bloody set of complications." He staggered to his feet. He _needed _Potter to get Dumbledore onside. He needed someone to believe him.

Potter stopped, halfway back to his own bed, and turned back to look at Draco, "We're not torturing children for fun." His blazing green eyes met Draco's.

"We changed sides." Draco said, as honestly as he knew how to. "You know we did."

Potter nodded, the rage died out, "Your potion, the one in the basement, it got h_im _too. He was hurt by it, and your father, got a solid punch to his jaw before he died."

Draco smiled with pride, settled back into his bed. His father would have been happy about that.

Potter sighed as he sat on his own. "I still don't like you...or trust you." He added in thought, "but if you let me ask my questions, and you're honest, I'll try to keep the Death Eaters off your back whilst you're running away like a coward."

Draco inclined his head; he decided not to pursue the debate on similarities between bravery and stupidity. "I hate you." He said quite candidly, "But I've said it before, you do have your uses."

He needed someone to trust him, to believe him, and he needed that someone to have the power to put their support to use. He'd briefly considered his options after his mad dash from the Manor a few nights ago: most of his friends were Slytherins, no respectable wizard would trust them, and those contacts he did have in the outer world through his father were used to illegal manipulation, they'd abandon him whenever the price was high enough. Still, some old family friends, maybe the Parkinsons would help if he could convince them to, but he had no guarantees were loyalties lay amongst his friends.

That left the peace-loving ignorant gaggle of _courageous _idiots that was Potter, Fudge and Dumbledore. Fudge would be as useful as a Cornish Pixie in an apothecary of volatile ingredients, explosive, desultory and far too stupid to realise he was either. Dumbledore, on the other hand, did have his uses. He was smart, powerful and guaranteed to kindly look the other way when Draco felt the niggling desire to burn something down. The problem was he was unpredictable and, from the looks of Potter, completely unwilling to share power. Information was power; Draco knew that, so he found it curious that Dumbledore's boy-weapon was so innocently ignorant of so much in the wizarding world. So much so in fact, that he'd sought out Draco himself.

Potter would be a good ally, easy to manipulate, trusting of his knowledge and stupid enough to jump between the world and Draco should the occasion ever arise. Draco knew he could use that need to keep others safe to better himself.

He looked over at Potter, who was lying in his own hospital bed, glaring a hole in the ceiling and wringing the sheets in his hands with a vigour that Draco knew would have had the power to wring the neck of a dragon. Evidently worrying about the argument with his friends, Potter hadn't spoken since he'd sat down and that might have been half an hour.

"Mr Malfoy, you're awake!" the matron of the Hogwarts Hospital Wing bustled back into the room, carrying a box of rattling potions, "Why didn't someone fetch me?"

"Sorry ma'am," came Potter's saccharine response, "I was distracted."

Fixing stern eyes on Draco she drew up privacy shields with an apology to Potter that she would see to his release momentarily, Madam Pomfrey asked Draco how he was feeling.

"The trembling stopped." He pointed out helpfully, "but my head is killing me."

Sympathetically she fished a potion from the box and offered it to him, "This should settle that." Nodding he uncorked unscrewed the bottle and poured it into a goblet. There was just enough for two mouthfuls. Just like shotting fire-whiskey, Draco knew Severus would have added some non-reactive and suitably disgusting flavour to discourage trouble makers from enjoying his potions, Draco took a deep breath, counted to three, threw his head back and swallowed. _Powdered chupacabra claws, what a nice touch._ He noted to commend Severus on this new revenge against snivelling students. They were notorious for a particularly earthy taste that reminded one of chewing on dirt, but had a lovely trace of something that burnt his throat as he swallowed. Fighting the urge to vomit all over the floor Draco banged his fist onto the mattress in protest to the taste.

"Glad to see one of my patients is cooperative," Madam Pomfrey took the goblet off him and ran a diagnostic spell. Hardly surprising that Potter would be impossible to deal with, Draco however, preferred to be honest so that he didn't end up back there with ongoing complications. "Now, Mr Malfoy, I'm sure you understand that the Cruciatus Curse can leave lingering injuries, both physical and mental. Please refrain from any magic pertaining to the mind for at least a few hours." So she hadn't forgotten the night last year when Severus had carried him up here after an Occulmency lesson that had rendered him hysterical.

"Uh..." Well, it wasn't his fault he used Occulmency as a calming technique when he'd felt like dying in the Alley after the battle was it?

Madam Pomfrey's eyes widened, "Honestly!" She cried throwing her hands in that air, "What will I do with you?" She waved her wand and took notes on the results.

"Am I dying?" Draco asked, just to be sure, though he rather doubted it, and he knew Potter was listening, so he figured he'd start playing up the whole _wide-eyed and alone _part he'd need to get the fool onside.

The matron's eyes softened and she patted his hand gently, "Of course not, dear. Just give your mind a rest for a few days, alright?" She summoned a house elf who came bearing hot chocolate with little marshmallows and, to his delight, creamy caramel flavoured syrup. "I see no damage, but if you feel any discomfort you must find me or a professor immediately."

"Yes ma'am." Trying to channel Potter he smiled up at her with his most saccharine smile. She dropped the screens and bustled away, taking her potions with her. Potter's eyes met his briefly, but Draco turned back to his mug with a smile on his face. He'd missed the comforts of home these past few weeks, and even Potter's curiosity wasn't going to spoil this moment for him.

A loud bang as the doors slammed open and sweeping black robes, hard dragon-hide shoes against the floor and the thoroughly displeased sneer of Severus Snape, on the other hand? That had the more than enough potential to ruin this and every following moment. Ever. Draco sent a wistful look at the mug as he set it back on the table, and turned to look at his Godfather's face, etched with fury. Severus flicked his wand, Draco hid his flinch, and silencing wards settled around them. Looking down Draco waited for the tirade to begin.

"Either your shield charms are abysmal," Severus sneered, "or you are suicidal." Draco nodded, letting Severus gather his energy, "and, who would think turning their back on a Death Eater was an apt course of action? I'm afraid the lack of fresh air has corroded what little was left of your brain. You stupid, _stupid_, idiot boy!" He was pacing now, barely controlling the hurricane of insults that were spitting themselves from his lips with distaste, "You are so very, very idiotic the word unique seems fitting."

Severus paused and looked down at him over a hooked nose, and Draco met his gaze. "I'm sorry." Draco offered.

Severus made a noise that Draco interpreted as a strangled release of frustration, "Draco..."

"I know." Draco nodded. Severus huffed, wand itching to cast some violent curse. "I'm sorry, I just panicked."

His Godfather closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "I could have killed you."

"Yes."

"Work on the damn shields."

With a billowing flourish of robes the silencing wards were down and Severus Snape was gone.

"What did he want?" Potter spat. Draco sighed, Potter wouldn't understand. He simply reached over and picked up his still warm hot chocolate and let out a sigh of relief. Severus had forgiven him. Well, he'd yelled at him, but it was pretty much the same thing.

A tidal wave of relief washed over him, it had been an act. Severus wasn't going to serve him up to the Dark Lord.

Potter scowled as Madam Pomfrey told him he was free to go. Draco watched as Potter moved towards the doors looking like he rather wanted to stay. _Trouble in Gryffindor paradise_. Draco toasted the air, and thanked life for the simple pleasures.

OoOoOoOoO

Harry nervously entered the Gryffindor common room, thankful that no one but his friends would be there. He didn't really feel up to staring eyes just yet.

Two figures were sitting in the chairs by the fire, talking quietly.

"I'm sure he's just tired," Hermione was saying reasonably, "it's been a stressing day for everyone."

"I'm sure he's just a prat." Ron replied grumpily, and Harry smiled, knowing Ron didn't mean it. Hermione huffed, and sat back against the chair then started as her eyes fell on Harry.

"Harry!" She jumped up from the chair. "What are you doing up? Are you alright?" Before he could speak she had ushered him to a chair, chewing her lip and looking anxious. "I hope Madam Pomfrey let you out, you didn't come here because of us did you? Oh Harry, you know we'd never be angry..."

Laughing Harry pushed her gently into her own seat. "I was officially released." He assured her.

"Good thing too, mate," Ron grinned up at him. "Malfoy might've murdered you in your sleep."

Harry let a smile cross his face, but it froze when he realised what he and Malfoy had been doing before they were attacked. Fury worked its way up again; at least Malfoy had been there.

"So..."Ron offered again, to prompt conversation.

"We really are sorry." Hermione spoke over him. "Circumstances what they were..."

Harry snorted and relaxed against the arm rest, staring into the fire, trying to figure out what was happening in his head. Deciding to ignore the letter situation, which would only lead to another fight, he took up the only other thread of thought he had.

"I think Malfoy is a good guy now."

Ron snorted.

"No, I...I had a vision."

"Again!" Hermione threw her hands in the air, "Harry, we've discussed this before, what if You-Know-Who meant for-."

"This was different."

"That's what you said last time, and Sirius-."

"Don't." Resisting the urge to kick something, Harry persisted, "he took the Cruciatus Curse for me."

Silence met this statement.

"Plus, he told me. He changed sides."

No one moved.

"I'm not saying I like him."

"Thank Merlin!" Ron laughed. "He's a ferret, Harry. You can't trust anything he says."

"Are you sure he meant to take the curse?" Hermione offered, and Harry tried not to admit that it had been an accident. The vision of Malfoy, bloody and screaming on the floor after trying to help him was there either way, so what if it was an accident? Accidents had saved his life more than once.

Malfoy had looked about as dishevelled as Harry ever thought he'd be, bruised and trembling as wizards came to kill them. Would he be ok in the Slytherin common room alone? Would his friends still be friends come tomorrow's Sorting Feast?

Perhaps he should make sure.

"Don't look so worried Harry; I'm sure Professor Snape will be happy to start Occulmency lessons again if you just explain the situation." Hermione assured him, wrongly interpreting the reason he was glaring at the fire.

He didn't look worried did he? Well, he had made a deal with Malfoy. That was all. If he was going to get information and keep an eye on his plans he needed to be sure the other boy wasn't smothered in his sleep.

That _was_ all.

Wasn't it?

- TBC -

Please feed my muse by leaving reviews.

Will guarantee longer updates if you do!


	7. Pieces of the Puzzle

**A/N: **Firstly, thank you so much to everyone who reviewed, added to favourites or alerts. I can't describe my happy dance when you do, but I assure you it is both hilarious and elaborate. So sorry for the short chapter! I'm a bit pressed for time.

_A note on Ron & Hermione_: My characters need to have reasons for everything they do. Ron and Hermione won't be changing themselves until they have reason to. Harry response will be a realistic as I can make it.

**Chapter Ten: The Pieces of the Puzzle  
**

Leaves rustle in the wind; it sweeps through him like he isn't there. He is cold. He's floating. His grip on the broom tightens. Sheets of rain are pouring down. The water trickles through his hair in icy patterns and he wants so badly to be warm again.

The rain hits the leaves with a soothing patter. _Shhhhhhh, _it whispers to him. Louder. Louder? It's the noise of bacon frying in a skillet. It crackles in the pan, hot oil spits back at him. His mother is there, "You shouldn't be here" she says calmly, tries to usher him from the kitchens. House elves dance under his feet. He trips over one of them and lands heavily on the floor. He leg is aching. He moans and stares at the ceiling. The world sways with him, rocking like a ship. At the top of the mast is a flag, it rattles against the wind with a tapping rhythm.

_Tap, tap tap, tappa tap, tap, tap tap, tappa tap, tap. _

The noise of a knife striking clean through salamander tail. The room is hazy, from the sea spray, or maybe, the steam from cauldrons.

"Focus, son," he pauses, because the world isn't rocking any more. He meets his father's eyes. He's still cold; his hair is clinging to his face. He can't remember how he got so wet.

"Father?" he whispers, the voice is so loud it echoes in the room, reverberates like a drum. It lingers, hovers in the air. Sinusoidal waves of sound sweep over him, loud, quiet, loud again. He can't hear, then he can. Maybe he's the one moving, not the sound. Rocking. Swaying. The sea crashes into the hull of the ship.

His father's face is there, crumbling, disintegrating, and burning. He chokes back another cry.

"You did this." It's a statement, skin ripples under the potion. _Potion? _He looks at his hands, the empty cauldron looks back. Empty. He's empty, isn't he? He feels the need to fill the emptiness, the silence.

"I was trying..." He can't finish the sentence. _Was he trying to help? Was he trying to escape?_

Words tumble, fall from his mouth, like water from a faucet. Water torture? _Drip. Drip._ He can't escape, can't think. Words are water from the tap. Tap? _Tap, tap, tappa tap_. The flag rattles, the ropes holding it up sway the pulleys against the mast over and over and over and over, threatening to be pulled away, swept out of home.

It rips, tears.

His heart is breaking.

"You are no son of mine." The burning figure turns away and disappears into the mist. His father is swallowed by the gloom of horizon. Swallow. He swallows, tries to fight down the urge cry.

Rain gathers in his eyes, drips down his cheeks. It's quiet. His heart pounds against his chest as they drip to the earth. Thunderous, it beats up a perfect storm. It's a summer tempest. The lightning runs along the cracks, fault lines. The earth shudders.

_Murderer. Coward. _

The plates of the Earth shift away from one another. Pushing in opposite directions like two positive poles of a magnet forced together. Pieces of him are falling away, he can't hold them together. He has to hold it together, tape up the sides. If he had spellotape he could, piece it all together.

He picks up the pieces. They're small, like shards of glass. Glass. Windows shatter as he sprints through them. Running, running. His feet pounding on the ground. Thud. Thud. It's the beating of his heart.

But his heart is broken. It can't be beating.

Silence.

He's empty. Waiting.

His heart stuttered to a stop, and then it started beating again, his eyes snapped open and the dream faded before his eyes.

Draco sat up, panting.

The hospital wing was empty and dark. Outside a raging tempest played itself out by pounding on the glass window. He shivered under the blankets and starchy sheets even though the room was magically heated.

Closing his eyes, he moved out of bed, placing a hand against the cold glass window. Overwhelming emotions brimmed beneath his calm exterior. Malfoys don't cry. It had been twenty-four hours since this had all started, and he noticed idly that he hadn't had the chance for any of it to sink in until now.

He wasn't sure how long he'd been there when the door to the Hospital Wing opened, and near silent footsteps crept across the room.

He turned slightly; a wrinkled smile greeted him with sparkling eyes and half-moon glasses.

"Professor." He acknowledged quietly, eying the aging wizard with some trepidation. He wasn't sure he was ready for this challenge.

"Draco, my boy," came the jubilant response, "Are you well?"

A half-smile lit his face. _If only you knew. _"I should be sleeping." He said quietly, hoping to buy more time. Getting Dumbledore on side would be hard.

"I'm sorry, but I do need a chat. Lemon drop?"

Shrugging, if only to have something to do with his hands, he reached into the proffered pouch and pulled out one of the bright sweets with care.

A benign smile followed his every move, eyes twinkling. "We must discuss the circumstances that have brought you here."

Draco's eyes narrowed as he cracked open the wrapping hesitantly, the cool scent of something familiar wafting upwards. "Circumstances, Professor?" He stalled.

"I'm giving you a chance to explain what you were doing with Mister Potter today, in your own words, Draco."

The smell was citric, he noted, but not lemony. He placed his fingers to his lips, biting his fingernails and he mulled over the information. The lemon drop rolled in his other hand and his tongue tasted his fingers. _Distraction. _Dumbledore, he noted with some surprise, was fishing for information.

"What did Potter say?" He asked.

"Mister Potter's opinions are not your concern."

For lack of a better thing to do he bit down on the candy, surprised at the sweetness. He'd never had a lemon drop before, and he'd really been expecting it to be sour.

"I was there on business." He reminded himself not to lie, his opponent would know. His brain scrambled for a game plan, he had Potter on-side but did he need Dumbledore?

"Business?" Dumbledore prompted.

He nodded, deciding the answer to both questions was an affirmative. Potter was volatile; Dumbledore had some sway over the ministry. Settled back into the fluffy pillows of his bed he sighed.

"My family and I have..." It was common knowledge that the Malfoy family was connected to the Dark Lord, but they certainly never stopped denying it. Admissions, even to the Headmaster, couldn't be made. He hesitated.

"Betrayed Voldemort?" The Headmaster supplied. He nodded in reply; relieved he didn't have to make the admission himself.

"Professor, my father is dead."

"I'm sorry for your loss Draco."

Draco noted that no comforting words followed, his father wasn't going to be remembered as a good man.

"Draco," Dumbledore shifted forwards to fix him with an intense gaze. "I must ask: what do you plan on doing now?"

He considered the Professor and wondered if there were more lemon drops available. He could feel an addiction coming on.

"Draco?" He tried to ignore the voice, swallowed what was left of the lemon drop and looked away.

"I don't know." He whispered into the silence, and he realised it was the truth. His father had made the plans. What was he going to do without him? "I don't know." His empty voice echoed in his ears. _Why had he said that? _He looked down at his hands and wished he had someone to ask.

Dumbledore shifted slightly, leaning back in his chair. "I'm sure you'll find a way." He said, his eyes had a sparkle in them. "Perhaps I can offer some advice?"

Eyes narrowed, Draco studied his Professor, quite sure that he was going to get that advice whether he wanted it or not.

OoOoOoO

Harry was out of bed before Ron was, not that it was an unusual occurrence. The early morning sun was filtering through the lingering clouds of last night's storm and he'd given up on sleeping. Dressed in his pyjamas, he slipped through the door to the dorm room and into the stairwell, trying not to disturb his friend.

It had been a long summer, and somehow being back of Hogwarts felt almost surreal. He didn't feel like he was home.

Looking around the empty common room, he settled in his usual place by the fire, stretching his feet out before him and letting it warm his toes. Shadows flickered around the room. He sighed, and ran a hand across his forehead as if the act would clear his mind.

His welcome home hadn't been what he'd expected perhaps, Hermione and Ron had brought a paper with them to the hospital wing, but most of it had been destroyed by Ron before he'd had the chance to read it. Not that he really been too surprised. Ron had always had a thing to fidgeting when he was nervous; it wasn't the first Daily Prophet that had met an early demise in the Weasley's hands.

Still, it would be _nice _to know what the hell was happening in the world. He made a mental note to ask Malfoy when he saw him next. Running to Malfoy for information? The common room felt empty, like the warmth was sucked out of it. His own best friends felt distant to him. It was hard to forgive the worry he'd been through, the anger, the sheer misery of being trapped in Dursely household for the entire summer break.

"Harry?" Soft footsteps crept towards him, and Hermione Granger settled into the chair beside him. His anger trickled away when he looked up at her. She smiled and gentled squeezed his hand. "Are you alright?"

He nodded because he wasn't sure how to put into words everything in his head.

"Ok," she whispered, "I'm here if you want to talk?"

He nodded again, staring into the fire. "How was your summer, 'Mione?"

A smile slid across her face, and she turned to the fire, following his gaze, "It would have been nicer if you were there." She admitted.

"Why didn't you write to me?"

"Oh, Harry." He felt her gaze on him but he refused to look away from the dancing flames. "We did as much as we could. Professor Dumbledore was very clear."

_Dumbledore. _The answer wasn't an inventive one. "Yeah, right." He stood up suddenly, "no offense Hermione, but you could have told me you were learning card games, I don't think that kind of information is a threat to national security."

Harry was surprised he wasn't yelling.

"I thought it might upset you." She answered, still seating before the fire, "and you needed space, after...after-."

"I needed my friends." His voice pitched higher than usual.

Her arms were around him in a heartbeat, bushy hair tickling his face. He stiffened for a second, and then melted into the embrace. It had been so long since someone else had been strong for him.

"Harry." She tightened her grip on him, arms bear hugging him with all her might, "I'm so sorry. I'd have written if I knew, I'm so sorry."

He wanted to believe her so badly, he couldn't help it. Her sincerity was almost heartbreaking. Carefully, he extracted himself from her embrace. "It's alright."

"Well it's about time you came to your senses, mate." A set of stronger arms pulled around him, hugged him briefly then let go. Ron smiled down at him. "We all good?"

He smiled, how could they not be? Ron was the first friend he'd had.

"Great." Ron flopped onto the sofa, fully dressed if not dishevelled. "Shall we get breakfast then?"

"Oh, honestly! Ronald! Do you ever think about anything other than your stomach?"

Just like that, the tension trickled away.

The trip to the Great Hall was made in good spirits, the Castle felt empty without the usual bustle of hundreds of students, but Harry was glad to back and his friends were eager to make up for their absence with much banter and a peppering of questions.

The heavy doors opened to admit them to the Great Hall and their footsteps echoed as they crossed to floor. The usual four tables for the students had been replaced by a large round table in the centre of the room.

As the only occupants of the room, they settled down and spoke loudly.

_It was nice to be home. _

OoOoOoO

He started his long trek down to the dungeons. Severus had had the chance to calm down at least, so he figured it might be safe to try and visit him. His footsteps echoed as he walked, fingers trailing over the cold stone walls. He had missed this place.

Severus' classroom door was open, warm light glowed from within.

"Sev?" He asked, as he slipped inside.

"I've told you not to call me that, Draco."

His Godfather was bent over a cauldron, a stern frown on his face as glanced between his notes and the bubbling liquid. Settling himself on top of one the desks, he folded his legs and rested his chin in his hands, elbows digging into his knees.

"I've been meaning to congratulate you." Draco said, watching with interest as Severus opened a jar and sprinkled a dark powder into the potion, stirring with his left hand.

"Congratulate me?"

"Yes. On the chupacabra claws. Perfectly nasty." He wrinkled his noise in memory of the healing potions Madam Pomfrey has fed him.

A ghost of a smile flickered over his Godfather's face, "I'm afraid I've not the faintest idea what you mean."

"No," Draco mused, "I'm sure you don't. Still, _if _you did, I'd say I was impressed you found something quite so disgusting that didn't react with the newt eyes in healing potions."

"I am a potions master." Severus waved his wand over the cauldron and a translucent bubble floated wispily to encase it. "I imagine I'd have a talent for that."

"What are you making that needs a Statis charm?"

"Healing potions."

Draco laughed, he had an inkling what that powder was. Severus stood up, and motioned him into his office.

"Clean bill of health from Madam Pomfrey?"

"Yes, sir."

Severus gave a nod, followed by a sigh.

"I shall resume your tuition where it left off." Severus told him curtly, though his eyes were soft. "It will not be to your father's partiality of course..." He trailed off but Draco understood the message.

If Lucius were here he'd hit them both over the head with his cane and chastise them for being so mawkish. Draco smiled at that, and it seemed Severus had read his thoughts, because the amused glint in his eyes seemed to concur.

"Sev?" He whispered, and his Godfather moved forwards, hands settled on each of his shoulders. "What am I going to do?"

"Your best. I expect nothing less." The pressure on his shoulders increased gently.

Draco nodded dumbly. _That wasn't much of a plan._

"I know Lucius didn't leave you much time to collect your things for school."

Draco shrugged again, "The vaults are still closed. I tried to get them opened but I don't know when it'll-."

"I'll take care of it."

"Thanks, Sev."

The pressure was gone and suddenly he was standing in the room watching his Godfather seat himself behind the desk. "I'll never forgive your father for teaching you that name." Severus groused.

Draco settled into the stiff wooden chair across from him with a pleading glance, and smiled when it turned into a high-backed arm chair. "So...Dumbledore came and spoke to me this morning."

Eyebrows arched, "did he?"

OoOoOoOoO

After breakfast Harry slipped away from Ron and Hermione, saying he was tired and needed to rest before the feast that night. With concerned smiles they agreed and disappeared to the lake for a walk in the fresh air.

True to his word, Harry returned to the Gryffindor tower, but instead of climbing into bed he opened his trunk, that had evidently been collected from the Dursleys at some point whilst he was sleeping last night. Digging through his robes, which were folded neatly from last year and a several loose socks that never seemed to be a complete set; he pulled the Marauder's Map out. Spreading it flat on his bed he whispered, "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good."

Casting an eye over the top levels of the castle first, he wondered if he should really be doing this. Hermione and Ron would no doubt be angry if they came back and he wasn't here. Still, despite asking several times, neither of them would tell him anything practical about what he had missed from the news whilst he was in his solitary confinement. The Hospital Wing revealed Madam Pomfrey bustling between beds; and on the other side of the castle, Dumbledore was sat behind his desk.

Hermione and Ron were at the edge of the lake, neither was moving so he assumed they were sat somewhere, no doubt discussing him. He was torn between frustration and fondness, so he wrenched his eyes away quickly. _Complications._

The dungeons were empty, except for the office of Severus Snape, where the Potions Master and Draco Malfoy were moving between the store cupboard and the far side of the room. With a frustrated sigh he sat on his bed. He wasn't exactly going to go bursting in there looking for his childhood nemesis, was he? Fiddling with the fraying edge of the blanket, he made his decision.

Keeping one eye on the footprints of Ron and Hermione, he started to make his way back downstairs, wondering who thought it was a good idea to put the dorms so far away from everything. Though the inadvertent exercising was probably good for his health, he knew he was worked against the clock and the walk wasn't going to speed things up.

The air in the dungeons was colder. He wrapped his cloak around him a little more securely and slowed his pace to watch Malfoy leaving the office and heading down a hallway on the map.

Harry didn't come to the dungeons except under duress, which in this case would be defined as _classes with Snape_. Aside from the second year escapade into the Slytherin common room he'd never bothered exploring much of them, but he was pleased to see he remember the way and beat Malfoy to the portrait by barely a minute. He was going to find out what Voldemort had been up to this summer.

OoOoOoO

"Potter?" He hadn't been expected the saviour of the wizarding world to be leaning on the wall outside the Slytherin portrait.

The boy in question tucked folded parchment into his robes and smiled at Draco. _That was new. _

"Malfoy," He responded hesitantly, "Umm..."

Draco stared at him. Were all conversations going to be so delightfully one-sided? "Let's use our words, Potter."

"Our deal? I have questions."

Draco was not surprised. "You'd better come inside then, Potter. Explaining anything to you might take a while."

Potter backed away from the portrait as he approached and said clearly, "Serpentine". The portrait swung open to reveal the warm glow of a fire over green furniture. He chose his favourite seat to the side of the room, nestled between a bookcase and the corner. Potter slouched into Goyle's normal spot across from him. Draco briefly wondered if his best friend would still want to sit there when his treachery against the Dark Lord was known.

Green eyes took in the room with curiosity and Draco watched as Harry sized up the facilities and no-doubt compared them to the Gryffindor counter-parts hidden in the tower Draco had never entered.

Potter's eyes drifted back to Draco after a few minutes, and a blush rose on his face when he realised he was being watched. Draco smirked, the other boy shifted uncomfortably.

"Questions, Potter?"

"Harry."

"That's not a question."

"No, I meant, you should...you know, call me Harry. Saying Potter makes you sound like Snape." Potter shifted around again. Couldn't he sit still for two minutes? _Probably not. _He wondered if he was insulted or not that he reminded Potter of Sev. He rather liked Severus himself, but Potter – _Harry - _didn't make it sound like a compliment.

"You'll have to call me Draco, then."

"Right. Draco."

"Questions, _Harry_?"

Potter chewed on his bottom lip for a moment. "What happened over summer, just in the news and stuff? I missed so much."

Draco stared at him. "How?"

Potter looked away, "You know I didn't get letters."

Draco hadn't gotten any over the summer either, he felt inclined to point out. He had spent _his _summer locked in a basement making poisons and potions for the Dark Lord. Still, his father was good enough to have the _Daily Prophet _delivered, and it wasn't like he hadn't heard things through the walls, through the floors. _Whispers. _

"Well..." He pondered over everything that had happened in three months, "the Ministry finally admitted to the Dark Lord's return."

"And?"

"Went on a witch-hunt," Draco remembered Death Eaters laughing when innocent witches and wizards were carted off to Azkaban on trumped up charges. "That's not an analogy, I mean it quite literally."

"What do you mean?" He had Potter's attention now.

"Anyone who wouldn't kick up too much of a fuss or be politically awkward to send to Azkaban was. Fudge's reign of terror begins. Not too many arrests yet, but things will no doubt get worse before they get better."

"And Fudge is still in power?"

"For now, though you've been doing a great job of fixing that."

"I have?"

Draco frowned, Potter was staring at him curiously, like this was the first he'd heard of it. Then again, maybe he wasn't so surprised. "Your biography?" He prompted. Even _Potter _couldn't have forgotten that he was the subject of a best seller.

"Oh, that? I read it in Diagon Alley before you came out of the store-."

"While you were stalking me, you mean?" It amused Draco to no end when Potter had sat around for a half hour waiting for him to leave a building. Harry replied with a glare and carried on speaking.

"-it's a load of lies. I had nothing to do with it. How's that dealing with Fudge?"

_Curious. _Draco's mind went into over-drive with plots. "It had an _exclusive _interview with you, so exclusive apparently you weren't even invited. You were quite adamant that Fudge be removed for some guy in Auror division of the Ministry."

Potter looked angry, so Draco scrambled to change the subject before his renowned tantrums unleashed themselves when he had no back-up. "It made the Dark Lord really angry, anyway. Plans went astray." Potter seemed interested, and looked less likely to kill him, so he continued "The Dark Lord had been intending on re-building his base before revealing himself. Once you did that for him he needed everything faster. Then when his contacts in the Ministry lost favour because of your book...that was an angry day."

Potter was suddenly leaning forward, dangerously near his personal space. "How do you know that?" His voice was soft.

"I spent my summer at his Manor making potions and stuff." He shrugged, because it made him feel so much more blasé about the terrifying nights spent sleeping on the floor and the continuous torment of the Dark Lord watching him. The Manor operated on a panopticon system and he'd grown more paranoid under it. He wondered if the nightmares of ghostly watchers would haunt him here too.

Potter moved forward, "Merlin, Draco, I..."

Draco looked away, apparently his blasé technique had failed, "It's fine, Potter."

"No, it's not. You shouldn't have had to do that." Harry sounded so sure about it.

"Sometimes things aren't fair." He swallowed so he didn't have to think about how he got away from there.

"Draco." Potter seemed almost like he cared. "You don't have to go back, your father made sure of that."

"My father..." His voice hitched and he shut his mouth. He looked at Potter chewing his lip, eyes full of concern and pity.

He couldn't keep this going anymore. He pushed himself out of his chair and was gone, up the stairs and into the dorm rooms, hoping to get away from Potter before he started crying. _Why now? _He'd been doing so bloody well.

Agony welled up from somewhere, and he went to kick his trunk, momentarily forgetting it was in his abandoned Manor or on the black market somewhere. His foot connected painfully with the bedpost.

"Merlin!" He doubled over, grabbed his foot he teetered on one leg and collapsed to the floor when his balance gave way. Sitting on the floor of the empty room he wished he could reverse the past six months or fade away into nothingness.

With a sob he slammed his fist into the mattress at his head. Tears were already rolling down his face. He'd lost everything in twenty-four hours and now he had nothing.

Arms wrapped around him, coaxing him away from his death-grip on the side of the bed. He let himself be drawn into a hesitant hug and didn't process burying his face in a warm shoulder. He couldn't think anymore. He was breaking.

He leant forward, fingers twisting into the material in front of him, clutching at the lifeline of his sanity.

He would worry about being embarrassed later. He could worry about it all later. For the moment, he just focused on trying to breathe.

Somehow, it hurt a little less with someone else to keep him from falling down.

- TBC -

*Panopticon is a system of monitoring prisons developed by Bentham, but I rather like it as a metaphor for pretty much everything. Don't worry, Draco will not cry for the entire story.

Please review!


	8. The Definition of Strange

**A/N: **Thanks so much for reading and reviewing. I really appreciate your time and effort. .

**Chapter Eight: The Definition of Strange**

Harry Potter was having the strangest day.

First, he had woken up and forgiven his friends for abandoning him over the summer. That wasn't all that bizarre, because he did love his friends when push came to shove, and little spat about letters wasn't going to change that. What was _odd _was that he'd promptly lied to them and left them to go in search of Malfoy. He wasn't exactly sure at what point _that _had seemed like a good idea. Maybe he was losing his mind? Maybe he'd lost it already? _Plausible. _

As of things couldn't have possibly have gotten any more peculiar, he'd then been invited amicably into the Slytherin common room by a childhood enemy who he was now on a tentative first-name basis. They'd made polite conversation and no hexes or curses of any sort had been exchanged. _Surprising. _

Then things had come to the upper limit of the definition of bizarre, jumped right over it and started heading into the realm of _alternate universe. _Draco Malfoy, junior ex-Death Eater and general pain in the _everywhere, _was clutching the front of his cloak. Harry looked down at the blond head resting against his shoulder; the other boy was visibly trembling.

The horizon of strange was somewhere far behind him as he wrapped his arms around his classmate gently rocking backwards and forwards, hoping Draco would stop crying because he didn't really know what to do when Hermione cried, let alone when an almost stranger he was roughly fifty percent sure he didn't like decided to have an emotional breakdown. To that point, he wondered why he hadn't hesitated when Malfoy – _Draco – _had disappeared up the stairs without a word. He'd just followed immediately like it was the natural thing to do. His heart ached though, as though it couldn't tell this was the idiot boy who'd tricked and teased him for the past five years. Lucius Malfoy had just died. _Guilt. _It had been because of Harry that Draco's father had been sent to jail, had been punished by the Dark Lord. It was because of Harry that Draco had been summoned to who knew where to work on weapons for a war he didn't want to join. He realised he sort of owed it Draco to sit here with him and feel his pain.

"It'll be alright." It slipped out before he could stop it and he wanted to kick himself. The words sounded empty to his ears. The boy in his arms tightened his grip on his cloak, a blond head pressed harder into his chest as he drew it closer. A muffled sigh responded.

"Yeah." Draco sounded exhausted, voice scratchy to Harry's ears. Harry reflexively tightened his hold, drawing their bodies closer as if he could somehow transfer his strength through the physical proximity.

He was definitely losing his mind, Harry decided. At least Draco had stopped sobbing, though he was all but leaning on Harry. Not sure what else to do, he sat there holding him up, subconsciously rocking them back and forth. Fingers worked themselves loose from his cloak and the material loosened from its tight hold around Harry's shoulders. Surprised, he realised he missed the reassuring presence of it wrapped around him, he felt oddly vulnerable without it.

A hand flattened on his chest, pushing slightly and he took his cue to release them both from the embrace, shifting away slowing, just in case. He glanced away quickly, sparing Draco his gaze as the older boy wiped his eyes with the back of his hands. Malfoy leant back against the base of the bed, eyes red and cheeks flushed pink with either embarrassment or from crying, Harry couldn't tell. Just when Harry had decided things might be slipping back to how they ought to be, Draco sent the world spinning of its axis of normality again with a single word.

"Thanks." He whispered, avoiding Harry's eyes. The flush was from embarrassment then, Harry surmised. Suddenly feeling awkward, because when he'd been holding Draco he had had a reason to be there, and now his usefulness was over, he sitting in an empty dormitory with Draco _bloody _Malfoy. He didn't know what the social conventions were for this kind of situation. Aunt Petunia would have made tea.

"Er...no problem." He wondered if he should stand up and leave, but that option seemed a little cruel. He certainly wasn't going to be making tea either because that idea made him want to laugh. It was one thing letting Draco Malfoy suffer some sort of emotional breakdown in his presence, it was quite another to start a tea party over the matter. That left the question of what to do? He couldn't leave, but staying was just prolonging the silence.

"We'll never speak of this again, right Potter?" Watery grey eyes were watching him.

He nodded sharply and glanced around, trying to look anywhere but the blond hair that stuck up oddly from where it had rubbed against _his _shoulder or at the crumbled robes where _his _hands had rubbed soothing circles. Leaving wasn't an option, tea wasn't going to work. His brain stalled for answers and they sat in silenced.

This.

Was.

Awkward.

OoOoOoOoO

Draco Malfoy has having the strangest day he'd ever had and that was from a life that included several memories of Severus Snape _smiling._ First he'd had a stupid dream about his father, then Dumbledore had ruined his morning by being ridiculously chipper and Severus had idly told him to listen to the Headmaster and sent him on his way_. _Now? Harry Potter was sitting crossed-legged on his dorm room floor with crumpled clothes where Draco had been clutching at them, damp with his tears.

_What in Salazar's name was happening?_

Silence had descended between them. He realised that how they went from here would define their future as...? Well he wasn't sure what they were, perhaps mutual beneficiaries of the other's presence?

"Harry?" He ventured, nervous because he really didn't understand why Potter was looking so damn uncomfortable.

"Yeah?"

"Are you alright?" He couldn't help but ask really, because the teenager in question was studiously avoiding his gaze and had a grimace on his face. Bright green eyes flickered up to meet his and they were quiet for a moment. Potter – _Harry – _nodded once, firmly and then stood up, extending a hand to Draco.

"Yeah, I'm good. You?"

He had to fight down the déjà vu. Hadn't a hand of friendship been offered between them so many years before? He wondered briefly if perhaps Harry had taken his hand then. What would have happened? Potter would have inevitably clashed with him somewhere. They couldn't be friends. Harry was too unpredictable, and Draco was too damaged. Besides, it wouldn't have been allowed. He found it hard to picture Harry, the Boy-Who-Lived being sorted into Slytherin. _Even if _it happened, would Dumbledore really have allowed it? Imagine if he had though. He smiled; Harry could have been a snake too.

His hand wrapped around Harry's wrist as calloused fingers wrapped around his arm and heaved him to his feet. Both let go the instant he was steady as if they'd been burned. He shook the thought from his head, why was he thinking about being friends with this stupid Gryffindor anyway? He was at _least _fifty percent sure he didn't like him.

"So..." Potter still looked a little bit uncomfortable. "I should go, Hermione and Ron...they'll probably wonder where I am."

Tension melted away like ice-cream in the sun. Draco was pleased that things were heading back to familiar territory. This he knew how to deal with. Subconsciously taking Harry's cue to ignore the _incident, _he smirked, if only to regain his dignity. He wondered where Harry had told them he was going, seeing as they clearly didn't know the lion was in the Snake Pit.

"Gee Potter, isn't lying against the Gryffindor code of honour?"

Harry smiled in return, "Probably, but I'm not all Gryffindor."

Draco choked on air. He was momentarily positive that the oxygen had gone into a murderous rage against him because words completely failed him despite the fact that his jaw bobbed up and down several times.

"Careful Draco, you look like a fish." There was a beat of silence, and Draco found his tongue again.

"Better a fish than a Gryffindor."

Draco Malfoy was having the strangest day. Today he had cried in Harry Potter's arms, and now he was ushering the boy out of his common room with an amused smirk and the promise to be careful at the feast. The portrait swung closed and he stood staring at it for a long moment.

He bit his lip and thought over all the food he'd eaten today: breakfast, two scrambled eggs on crunchy sourdough straight from the kitchens; a lemon drop courtesy of the Headmaster; and, pumpkin pasties in Sev's office. He was pretty sure he hadn't been poisoned. _Imperious curse?_ He caught his reflection in the mirror across the common room. His slightly-red but definitely clear eyes gazed back at him.

What in Salazar's name was happening_ to him? _Maybe, just maybe, Harry Potter was only an absolute prat part-time. Oh Merlin! He'd cried on Potter's _freaking _shoulder! Slumping into a chair with his head cradled in his hands, he sighed.

Now he was going to have to murder Potter. He could probably make it look like an accident: push him down the stairs or off his broom? If that didn't work he was adept at poisons and potions, a slip of cyanide in his pumpkin juice? No one would suspect him of using something so simple.

What if someone caught him though? Then he'd have to explain that he was killing the Golden Boy so that no one found out that he had cried. Malfoys don't cry!

Granger and the Weasel would no doubt know in less than an hour.

He felt like curling up in a tiny ball and dying. His reputation was ruined.

OoOoOoOoO

The train arrived in the deepening dusk and students began to trail in Hogwarts shortly afterward. Harry ducked behind a few students to avoid Ron and Hermione as they came in with them, and shot up the stairs and out of sight. He was pleased that it appeared his friends had left the lake to go and greet the carriages rather than returning to the empty dorm for him. When he was sure he had given them time to detach themselves from the throng he turned around and doubled back meeting them halfway down the stairs.

"Hey mate; we were just coming to wake you."

Harry smiled at his friends, both of whom were eyeing him with some concern. "Are you feeling alright, Harry?"

He nodded, smiling warmly, "Yeah, loads better after a good sleep." He tried not to cringe at how falsely cheery his voice sounded.

Hermione sent him a knowing smile and Ron clapped him on the back, "Knew you would be mate. Food should help, too." Ron was edging towards the Great Hall, ready to join the other students as they swarmed in.

Hermione slipped closer to Harry as they followed Ron, he felt her breath on his ear as she whispered to him, "Bad dreams?"

He shot her a confused frown, what had given her that impression? Her eyes flickered down to his chest and back up again. Looking down he realised his entire outfit was dishevelled Malfoy had twisted his fingers into the material and Harry had never even noticed. Blushing he smoothed the material with his fingers as best he could. "Just, stuff." He hated lying, and felt like the world's worst friend when her eyes softened and she reached into her pocket. It wasn't fair using his Godfather's death as an excuse for his bizarre behaviour. A neatly concealed swish of Hermione's arm and his robes flattened themselves against his chest, looking neatly pressed. Her wand vanished back into her pocket before anyone downstairs had the chance to see it.

"Shall we?" She squeezed his arm and though she didn't say anything, she didn't need to. Unspoken words drifted from her eyes and she guided him down the stairs and glared at the students watching them to keep them away. Though no one approached the witch, well-known for her vast knowledge of hexes and charms, he heard snippets of conversation anyway.

"-in Diagon Alley –"

"Death Eaters called by Malfoy -."

"- hero, and then he -."

"I read the biography, the interview was -."

"-autographed if I ask?"

Sometimes, he hated being famous. Well aware he was the focus of the students as they moved about him he let Hermione charge through them all and followed in her wake. The Hall was still quite empty; most students had yet to all arrive up from the train. He settled down beside Ron, and smiled at Neville, Dean and Seamus.

"Hey guys."

A smattering of polite chat about holidays went on as more people trickled past. Luna stopped by with a floaty embrace and her wand tucked behind her ear.

"Harry!" In a flash of red Ginny Weasley was embracing him.

"Hey Ginny, how are you?"

"I'm so sorry I couldn't come with Ron yesterday, Mum wouldn't let me." She sat amongst the sixth years with an apologetic smile. He returned it as a blush warmed her soft cheeks. "Well, it's good to see you."

"Don't worry about it. His eyes looked over the vast swarm of students as they spilled into the warm light of the Great Hall. Many of them glanced at him, some tried to shake his hand, and others sent furious glares at him. He wondered what had changed in the news about him since the summer began. Draco had hinted that the biography was politically motivated, but could all of these people really be avid Fudge supporters? He doubted it.

Turning back to his friends, he saw Neville wildly gesturing about the Abyssinian Shrivelfig, he couldn't stop the smile slipping onto his lips. Hermione was nodding and talking about shrinking solutions though Harry wasn't sure what the connection was and Neville looked out of his depth at the change in topic. He really had missed this. His eyes raked over the each of the houses, familiar faces doted amongst the crowd of miscellaneous students. Pansy Parkinson was at the Slytherin table, her pug-face warped into a frown, looking for something. _Someone? _

He followed her gaze up and down the table, his heart almost stopped when he saw a blond surrounded by seventh years before he realised it was Charles Mahon, a seventh year half-blood who tended to look dark and brooding no matter where one found him. Where was Draco Malfoy? He had promised to be careful at the feast, surely he hadn't run into trouble already? They hadn't even sorted the first years yet! He unconsciously ran a hand across his chest where desperate fingers had grasped not so long ago.

"So, Harry, did you get a chance to work on more lesson plans for the DA?" Dean Thomas was leaning over the table with an excited grin. Harry ripped his eyes away from the concerned face of Pansy Parkinson and stared at Dean as his brain slowly processed the question.

"Uh, no, not really," to be honest, he hadn't thought about it at all. His summer had been miserable enough as it was without thinking of the responsibility of training teenagers in self-defence against a mad-man, or the reason he'd needed to do so, or the reasons he'd led them into danger. _Guilt. _"I wasn't sure we'd be doing it now Umbridge is gone." His eyes drifted back to the Slytherin table, Blaise Zabini was whispering to Parkinson with a dark look on his face. Crabbe and Goyle were sitting rigidly close by.

"We're not?" Neville's voice broke into his thoughts, "I had hoped we would. Gran was so proud when I showed her my O.W.L.s over the summer." His disappointment pulled at Harry's resolve slightly. He had forgotten about his O.W.L.s he realised belatedly. _Purposely. _His result for Defence had been outstanding, but he'd failed to get the same grade for Potions. He might as well have failed seeing as Snape would never let him into N.E.W.T level classes without it. He wondered idly if he'd get an automatic acceptance into the Auror program if he killed the Dark Lord, but given his track record of escaping through ridiculous amount of luck and a few happy coincidences he figured it was more likely he'd be buried before then. _Something to look forward to, then. _His dark train of thought was depressing him, so he pulled himself back to the conversation about exam results as Hermione began deconstructing her answer to question three, section six of the Defence against the Dark Arts theoretical paper.

"I just wish I'd included the alterative theories of defensive spell-work. I had read about them over the Christmas break but -."

"'Mione?" Ron interrupted, "we're all terrified you remember the question, let alone the freaking answer you gave. I could have been writing about the Chudley Cannons for all I know."

Laughter and a round of agreements rippled through the sixth year boys, but Hermione set them with a smile that said she was going to humour them and remain quiet. Their chatter broke off abruptly as the doors to the side of the teacher's table opened and Professor McGonagall led in a group of tiny students.

"Blimey, they're shorter than you are mate." Ron whispered with a snicker that was cut short by Harry's elbow lodging itself in his ribs. Silence settled around the Hall as the Sorting Hat was reverently set upon the stool. Terrified first years fixed it with wide eyed stares. A few whispers from the older students rippled through the crowd as the rip at the brim opened widely to sing.

_Come sit with me, you're safe and sound!_

_To sort and order I am duty bound, _

_The Sorting Hat cannot fate bend, _

_Nor see your future, nor predict your end, _

_But place me atop your head and I can tell, _

_Which great House might suit you well? _

_There's Ravenclaw of Founders fair_

_To welcome home wisdom's heir,_

_Perhaps I'll find the Great Gryffindor,_

_Who holds the bravest to be sure,_

_Then there's Slytherin, of cunning grace, _

_Sure strategists in life's quick race. _

_Or Hufflepuff might be your home, _

_There is where the loyal roam. _

_Come now sit and let us discover_

_If you belong in one or another. _

_Don't fret, don't despair nor wail,_

_I'm never wrong, I've yet to fail!_

A smattering of applause broke out. "Do you suppose he ever gets bored of writing those poems?" Harry asked Ron over the din. Ron snorted and shrugged.

"Anderson, Helena!" At the call of her name the tiny girl with blonde pigtails shuffled forwards, looking incredulously between the hat and the Professors. At the kind nod from Professor McGonagall she placed it firmly on her head, it slipped over her eyes.

"HUFFLEPUFF!" The hat shouted, and a roar of cheers erupted from behind Harry. Instead of turning to watch her progress though, he looked back to the Slytherin table as more first year names were called. His eyes met Draco Malfoy's. The blond looked remarkably composed since last time he'd seen him, having somehow slipped into the Hall when Harry hadn't been paying attention. Blaise Zabini was beside him. Neither was moving, but Harry could almost see the tension between them.

"SLYTHERIN!" Despite the cheers erupting around them as a first year stumbled to the table, neither moved. Was everything okay? Draco inclined his head slightly under Harry's gaze, as if answering the unasked question.

Frowning, he looked away. It wasn't like he could do anything now anyway. He wasn't worried, he decided, because Malfoy could surely take care of himself. His hand drifted back to the front of his robes as he tried to push the memory of desperate sobs from his mind.

Merlin, Hermione was right. He did have a saving people thing.

"If I might have your attention for a moment," Dumbledore was before them all again with a broad smile, "before the feast I felt some introductions were in order. I would like to welcome our new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, Professor Avellana Curiosian." A smattering of half-hearted applause responded. "I hope you will make her feel most welcome."

The young woman with bright eyes smiled politely at the students and Harry wondered if she'd last more than a year. He couldn't help but smile when several people around him whispered the same thing.

"I would like to add that the year ahead will be a trying one, but as long we unite Voldemort, and the darkness he represents, will be defeated." Dumbledore looked grave for a moment, "but such matters are for daylight. It's time to be fed and watered, so I shall leave you with three words: snap, crackle, pop!"

"Where _does _he get these phrases from?" Ron asked incredulously.

OoOoOoOoO

He left the Hall with the other Slytherins, no one had said a word since he'd settled himself down in his usual spot, they hadn't moved. He'd barely eaten. The sixth years moved as a unit into their dorm rooms, his eyes caught Pansy's gaze for a moment as the girls broke away. She shot him a look he didn't understand and was gone. Daphne's sad eyes met his a heartbeat later but she looked away.

Did she hate him now? For the second time in his life he fervently wished he was a Gryffindor, because he wasn't sure he was strong enough to face Crabbe, Goyle, Nott and Zabini all at once. They ushered him into the dormitory in silence, and stood facing him with silence.

"So," Theodore Nott surprised him by being the first to speak. The wiry boy obviously felt strongly about this, "how was your summer?"

Draco sighed, "I think you already know the answer to that."

Crabbe and Goyle both frowned. He really wasn't surprised they were confused.

"I do." Theodore leaned closer, "I know that I was called to Saint Mungo's high security wards by the Ministry because _your father _left mine to be crushed under an avalanche of _glass._" The taller boy's fists clenched in his hands, "Now I don't know _what _happened there, but what I do know is that _your father _failed and mine ended up in Azkaban. I know that _your father _betrayed the Dark Lord and I know that _you _are the reason _I _spent my bloody summer researching poisons in my family library because _your father _ruined His plans."

Draco swallowed. Theodore rarely blew up, but when he did it was intimidating. Without his father's name to use as a shield Draco wondered what would happen. Nott's closed fist smashing into his jaw should have been a surprise, but it really wasn't. Draco's head snapped sideways, his lip split and a dribble of blood trickled down his chin.

His two friends, Crabbe and Goyle had dark looks on their faces. His heart sank a little; he'd been hoping this would go differently.

"It wasn't like that." He started, but Nott's wand was shoved into his neck.

"Give me reason," he hissed, "Just one."

"That's enough!" Nott was hauled off him and suddenly Blaise was between them. "He'll get what's coming to him." Nott scowled at that statement, shoved away from the hands that had pulled him backwards and he was gone. Vincent and Greg watched him go silently then the two boys stood and followed. Their footsteps echoed in the quiet room.

Draco's fingers touched his lip and flinched back at the resulting sting. "Great." He mumbled.

Blaise turned around, shrewd eyes looking him over. "Want me to heal it?"

"Nah," Draco was moving towards the adjoining bathroom, eyes fixed in the mirror. "They'll only know you did it."

Footsteps followed behind him, "You should be more careful, Dragon. You might scar."

Draco dabbed the blood in the mirror, pleased to see that it was already starting to congeal. "Thanks."

"Theo's dad did." Blaise added joyfully, as he gracefully sat on the counter.

"Wasn't my fault."

"No, but you should always be careful how you are linked to strange and suspicious happenings." Blaise offered him a washcloth from the rail beside him with a wink, and Draco wiped the drying blood from his chin as the other Slytherin continued, "I'm not going to make an enemy out of Nott for you, but I just wanted you to know...I think you made the right choice."

With that, Blaise was gone. _Strange and suspicious _happenings indeed. He wondered if that wink was meant to mean anything about the seven deaths the Zabini matriarch had been linked to over the years. Tossing the cloth into the laundry basket for the house elves to deal with, he turned from the bathroom and walked to his bed. The empty place his trunk out to be made him angry all over again.

Severus had promised to deal with it, but he hadn't heard back from him, and it wasn't like he could go knocking on a known Death Eater's door without raising some eyebrows, he'd have to sneak there in the morning. The bed-frame creaked as he sat there, unsure where to do. Things at Hogwarts had changed. He wasn't going to get any sleep here, with one eye open to see if Theodore Nott was going to curse him in his sleep. He should probably hunt down a general poison antidote or bezoar soon; he wasn't the only Slytherin with a gift for brewing death.

Everything a Hogwarts had changed miserably. He couldn't help but wonder if betraying the Dark Lord had been worth it all.

OoOoOoOoOoO

"A word, Mister Potter?" The timetable in front of him was a depressing thought, without the required grade he wasn't going to be getting into Potions under the _delightful _Snape's tutelage.

Harry nodded numbly, told he would meet Hermione and Ron he would meet them at their Charms class and followed his Head of House outside the Great Hall. Both of them had been supportive when he'd told them his plans to be an auror were over, and Ron had cheerfully informed him that at least he was free from the "great black bat" that was Snape. He remembered McGonagall's promise to see him through to the auror program and hoped she had found a way.

"Mister Potter." She looked sternly at him over her glasses. "I made a promise to you last year, but I am disappointed you could not succeed in lifting your Potions grade as high as I had hoped."

Harry nodded again, because she wasn't the only one.

"I hope you understand that I did not enjoy asking Professor Snape for favours?"

A jolt of hope shot through him, his jaw dropped a little. "Favours, Professor?"

"Professor Snape has _graciously –," _Harry didn't believe that, "- agreed to you returned to his class on a trial basis, provided you agree to be tutored under one of his better performing students."

"I...That's really..." Harry took a deep breath, "_Thankyou _Professor."

"I made a promise, Mister Potter." She gave him a smile, "and I do intend to keep it."

Harry tried to contain his glee as she told him Snape would pair him with a tutor after his first class, perhaps Hermione would agree? He scanned over his new timetable, pleased to see Potions was now scheduled for Monday afternoons. His brain did a double-take, he was _pleased to see Potions._ He smiled amusedly at the parchment. He was _definitely _losing his mind. His moment of giddy relief was gone a heartbeat later when he heard her sigh.

"I'm afraid that's not the only reason I asked to speak with you in private," Her smiled was gone, and she looked older than he remembered, "Professor Dumbledore has asked me to pass along a message, as he is away on business at the Ministry."

"Professor?" Harry's hands dropped to his sides.

"I don't want you to worry, Harry." The use of his first name worried him regardless. "There has been some information from our informants in You-Know-Who's ranks. Not all of us at the Order have agreed to let you know, but Professor Dumbledore has insisted you were informed."

Harry nodded surprised that Dumbledore felt the need to share anything and thankful that for once he was going to get something. "What is it, Professor?"

"We have received information that there are some students are currently under the influence of orders from You-Know-Who to harm you."

Kill him, he realised. Kill him. There were people, and he didn't know who, in this school who were going to try to kill him. Legitimate enough that Professor McGonagall was telling him about it. He felt vaguely sick, or he though he did, but his brain was working fast enough to process it.

"We are watching, Harry, and we assure you every precaution has been taken. However we feel that Quidditch may be a risk too high for -."

"No." He whispered. "No."

"_But," _She smiled, "under the agreement that you are escorted there and back by your team-mates we have decided that until a threat eventuates you are free to continue playing. I have gotten used to seeing the House Cup in my office. I would prefer not to lose it. The new team captain, Miss Bell, has agreed to oversee your travel between practices."

He smiled; knowing that it was his Transfiguration teacher had been the one to fight that battle for him. The sound of footsteps outside the empty classroom made them both jump, breakfast was over. He wondered if one of them was going to try and kill him this year.

That was not a happy thought, but on the other hand, if Voldemort had failed almost every since he had come to Hogwarts he figured he could take it, couldn't he? Then again, he couldn't be lucky _forever, _and all they needed was one little slip.

He was simultaneously glad he knew and wished he didn't. Perhaps Draco would know something, perhaps the Slytherins would tell him something.

Listening to another assurance that he was to be well protected and absolutely should not worry himself about the matter he left for his Charms class feeling considerably conflicted.

He took it back, he wasn't having just having strange days, this was rapidly turning into a strange week. He thanked the Professor and left for classes feeling like he was walking under water.

Why was someone always trying to kill him?

OoOoOoOoO

Draco had yet to confront the girls or really anyone else from Slytherin house. He'd instead slipped away from the dungeons in the early morning and broken his fast in Severus Snape's office with his Godfather, who had sneered at the split lip and reminded him to dodge next time.

He appreciated that thought.

"I have your school supplies sorted," Sev nodded to Draco's school trunk hidden behind his desk, "it turned up in Knockturn Alley, one of my contacts sent it as soon as it was found."

"Thanks." He ran his hands lovingly over it. "Have you heard from my mother?"

Silence.

"Should she have written to us yet?"

"Give her time."

A firm nod and he pushed the issue aside in his mind. His Head of House had then given him a timetable and told him not to come by again unless he wanted to raise suspicions about Severus' loyalties.

"And remember Draco," Sev said quietly as he checked the hallway was clear of students before he let his Godson leave, "I'm going to give you detention in class, try to be your usual petulant self if you could."

"Don't say Filch." _Please don't say Filch. _

"They might think I like you if I don't." Eyebrows quirked, a challenge laid out.

Draco let out a hollow laugh as he left. "Yes we wouldn't want that, people might think you're _nice." _

He could have _sworn _he heard a laugh as the door shut behind him. He darted across the hallway with his shrunken trunk in his pocket, hoping to slip into the rooms before anyone was back from breakfast.

Two second-years looked up from the sofa against the wall but quickly looked away when they saw him. He was halfway up the stairs, on the home stretch, when a hand grabbed his and he spun around to come face to face with Pansy Parkinson.

"Pansy – what-?" She was pushing him into the third year dorm room before he could finish the sentence.

"Draco, _shut up!" _She shoved him into the empty room and he stumbled backwards until the cold wall hit him.

"What are you doing?" He hissed, and flinched when he found her wand pointed at his face.

"Pansy?" He choked. He wondered if his on and off again girlfriend was about to kill him.

"Things have changed, Draco." He could see the pain in her eyes and she looked at him and he wanted to reach out and hold her like he always had when she cried. Pansy who he had always loved but never loved enough to date properly. Pansy who gave him her Charms notes when he didn't feel like studying. Pansy who shared her sweets from Hogsmeade whenever she went.

Pansy who had tears in her eyes.

Pansy who had him at wand-point.

- TBC -

Reviews help my muse work faster.


	9. The Nameless Crime

**A/N: **I have been super busy since I last posted a chapter, so forgive me for the delay and any spelling errors; I haven't got a chance to edit it yet. Thank you so much for the reviews, each one of them inspired me to write a little more and they are no doubt the reason I've finished this before the end of July.

**Chapter Nine: The Nameless Crime**

Pansy wasn't just a friend. To Draco she had always been something absurdly more, though he was never sure what. In their youth she had been the one who helped him slay dragons and directed his battles against mythical monster. Together they had made their swords from the rolled up Daily Prophets Mister Parkinson left by the fireplace for them.

As pre-teens they had raced through the summer fields of the Malfoy Manor kicking up butterflies in the late dusk as his mother, Narcissa, yelled at them to come inside and clean up the evening meal.

Pansy had been the one who helped him learn healing charms when it was necessary, and he had offered her a shoulder to cry on when her parents forced her to join her first Death Eaters' raid.

They had dated briefly; off and on again throughout their time at Hogwarts, through it had never really progressed beyond warm embraces. He loved her in his own way. She was forever a sister though, and their pseudo-relationship was more to please his parents than himself. Love wasn't attraction, and he'd never had a fondness for her simpering or draping possessive embraces. He looked at her closely as she was now, and wondered how the world had been so screwed over. Somehow, fundamentally, this past summer had broken something of normality. The Earth had shifted under his feet but everyone else had caught their balance. Why did he seem to be constantly tripping over?

"Pansy." Draco breathed, her name lingered in to silence between them, her wand pressed a little closer. She stepped closer, her eyebrows drawn together.

"Why did you do it?" She shoved him, pressing him into the stone wall harder than she already was. "Why did you have to-?" She spun away, her wand still in hand but no longer trained on him. He knew better than to relax. "Merlin! You've _ruined _everything!"

"I had to Pansy, I couldn't -." He didn't know how to start, what was he meant to say anyway? He had his reasons and they were his alone, weren't they? His father did have the right to change his mind, didn't he?

"There's a war starting, Draco." She hissed, "Haven't you noticed? This isn't come school game, you can't go bouncing sides like this! There are consequences."

"I knew what I was doing." He pushed himself off the wall, hands in the air, trying to keep the situation from exploding, metaphorically or magically.

"No you didn't!" She spat, "You didn't! Merlin, Draco! Didn't you _think?"_

"Of course I did!" He got a harsh laugh as a response and a bitter eye-roll. There she was, Pansy Parkinson, rolling her eyes at _him. _How his betrayal had changed the world. He had never pegged her as the sarcastic kind. A smile slipped onto his lips at the thought, and Pansy glared at him. On some level, it almost felt like they were arguing about whether to tell Crabbe he had his robes on inside-out again. He'd missed her most of all his friends during his summer and he missed her most now, when she was two feet away from him but somehow unreachable. The empty chasm between them made it harder for his words to breach the silence somehow.

"Draco." She sighed, "The Dark Lord wants revenge." Her eyes flickered up to him and then away. "There are rewards out for your head, and Theo is hell-bent on claiming them. You want to tell me what you did to set him off?"

"His dad was at the Ministry with mine, when Potter started collapsing shelves it was decided to leave him behind." He winced when he recalled the description of the scarring the elderly wizard had received; the avalanche of glass had almost bled him dry before the aurors saved him. She growled at his answer and shoved him back into the wall as he tried to step away from it.

"My parents told me to beat Theo to it." She said, her wand was back, pressed against his neck painfully. "The Dark Lord told me to put a blasting hex through you neck." He swallowed convulsively against the sharp digging pain pressed to his Adam's apple.

"Are you going to?"

A beat of silence as she leaned in closer and inadvertently limited his air supply a little further. Then she sighed, and moved away.

"I wish I could. My parents are actually going to _kill_ me."

He gave a sigh of relief. He knew it couldn't have been an easy decision, he'd been there before. Pansy's parents had been Death Eaters for as long as his family had known them, though her mother had often seemed remorseful that their only daughter was caught in this mix. He had hoped that their long friendship would curry favour with them and that maybe they'd welcome him as they always had with smiles and sweets. The knowledge they'd sent Pansy to kill him deflated him slightly, like someone letting the air out of a balloon. _Regret. _

The dim firelight of the candelabras reflected in her eyes as she watched him sink to the floor. "Thanks for not killing me." Draco offered, and lamented the days that had led them to this.

"Be careful, Dragon." She said planting a chaste kiss on his cheek before she backed away to the door, "Theo's not messing around." He already knew that, he felt like telling her. He had the split lip to prove it. At least she wasn't murdering him in cold blood in the bedroom of five thirteen year old boys, he told himself. He was Malfoy after all; he still had some dignity left. Still, Pansy wouldn't be able to sit with him now without someone telling her parents, much less talk to him. It was safer if they weren't friends this year. His heart swelled against his ribcage uncomfortably, how many people would abandon him today? He nodded at her warning instead, content to sit here in his misery for a moment longer before getting up for Charms class.

"Daphne sends her love," that was said with some resentment, "if you need help, you know where to find me Dray." With that she was gone, and Draco shook himself out of his stupor. He was being ridiculous. Merlin, he was turning into an emotional _Hufflepuff. _Dignity? He scoffed out loud before he realised he'd done it. He was done sulking. It was time to pull it together. He was a Malfoy, and Malfoys don't cry. All those emotions were making him weak. He pulled himself up and fixing his creased robes. Brick by brick the wall slid into place and Draco's grief for his father, for the lost friendships, for the times he'd never have again was hidden away behind it.

If Theo wanted to play they he was welcome to try, but Draco Malfoy was no stranger to the politics of Slytherin. He could hold his own against whatever that wiry boy could throw at him. Striding up to his dorm room he tossed his trunk against the foot of his bed, and cancelled the shrinking charm before adding several nasty locking hexes. Turning to his bed, he realised he was perilously close to Nott's – within casting distance. He quickly spelled a perimeter around the bed to alert him if anyone got to close whilst he was there. It was an easy motion sensing charm from third year, but at least it was something.

_Game on, Nott. _

The challenge was set, the gauntlet laid out. Draco wasn't going to lose. Still, he thought, as he slipped from the room with his new Charms textbook under arm courtesy of Severus, it might be nice to talk to someone who hadn't threatened to kill him today.

He was halfway to the Gryffindor tower before he realised he was looking for Harry.

He paused in the hallway, shocked by his own subconscious, and turned away towards the Charms classroom. Harry would be at the class anyway, and what exactly had he been planning on doing at the portrait hole there? It wasn't like he could waltz up to the door and say '_send out the Golden Boy I'd like to have a chat'. _Maybe Pansy was right, he was clearly having problems using his brain these days. Exasperated at his own stupidity he shoved into the Charms classroom door and dropped into a seat at the back of the class before he was aware someone else was in the room.

"Merlin, are you alright?" A wand was in his face and he couldn't control the flinch as a result. "Relax, it's just me. What happened? Are you hurt?"

A cold feeling touched his lip and he raised his fingers instinctively to touch the smooth place where the cut had been. He hadn't thought it was _that _bad. Trust a Gryffindor to have the over-reaction of the century. Green eyes were watching him.

"Just getting reacquainted with some old friends," he said airily as he placed his book bag on the floor. "Nothing to worry about, honestly, you Gryffindors get in so much trouble you'd think you could handle a split lip without a nervous breakdown."

"I can give you another, if you'd like?" An amused glint sparkled in Harry's eyes told him it was a joke. He'd never noticed they had little flecks of golden brown in them smacked his forehead with his hand, earning a laugh from his classmate and suddenly desperately hoping this was not the moment Potter had decided to become accomplished at Legilimency. Why in the entire _universe _was he thinking about Harry's _eyes? _

"I hope you've been practising your healing charms." He warned.

"Don't worry, I haven't scarred your pretty face." Harry's words didn't sound mocking but that irritating glint of amusement in his gaze made Draco scowl anyway. "So who were you picking fights with?"

"Nott."

"Not what?"

"Were you born that stupid or is an acquired skill?"

"Oh. Nott."

"Nott."

"He looks like a strong breeze would knock him over." Harry observed dubiously as he picked up his things from the desk two places away and slouched into a seat beside Draco. Draco watched him with some surprise.

"That's a bit hypocritical."

"I guess we're all stronger than we look." Harry's eyes connected meaningfully with Draco's and though he wasn't quite sure what the message was, he couldn't help but be strangely comforted by it. "Do you mind?" Harry motioned to the fact that he'd all but set up beside him, ink pot in hand but book bag still hovering uncertainly just above the floor. He didn't, he noted idly, though he was fifty-percent sure he didn't like Harry Potter, he knew he was going to have to sit beside someone today and Harry was better company than the teary ex-girlfriend who had been ordered to kill him or chancing the wiry but deceptively strong Theodore Nott. _Decisions, decisions. _

"Nah," He pulled his own things out but before his quill hit the table he realised something that he really ought to have before this ridiculous conversation ever started. "Your friends might though, when they get here." Where were Harry's loyal dogs? Shouldn't they be drooling at his feet about now? Harry answered with a smile and dropped his bag to the floor with a thud. "Why are you here without them?" Might as well make polite small-talk until the class started in a few minutes. They had both been strangely early.

"I was hoping you'd be here, actually."

The shock was the equivalent of the Hogwarts Express ploughing into him, and it wasn't exactly a small train. "Me?"

"Yeah, I wanted to ask you something but I guess it's kinda redundant now that I've seen the Slytherins aren't too happy with you."

"Oh." He blinked. He wondered what he had been hoping Harry was going to say anyway. Obviously the stupid Gryffindor wanted to get information from him? Why else would the Golden Boy be looking for him? _Stupid, Stupid, Stupid! _"Right." He scowled at the chalkboard at the front of the room as the door swung open and Neville Longbottom entered the room.

"Hi Harry." Eyes flickered between them nervously.

"Hey Neville, wait for – Harry?" Seamus Finnigan and Dean Thomas almost collided with the boy as he stood in shock at Harry and Draco sharing a table. "Malfoy what are you doing?"

Draco bristled at the comment, he had been at this table first, he wanted to say. It wasn't his fault the addle-brained Harry Potter felt the needed to chat to him. He wasn't exactly responsible for the Golden Boy was he? "Sitting, Finnigan. I'm surprised you've made it this far with the trouble you have navigating your way through the furniture."

The three boys slid into their seats, sending questioning glances at Harry between the sharp glares directed at Draco. Harry simply smiled and turned back to Draco. "I guess I'll tell you about it later?" He asked Draco quietly, though their classmates no doubt heard.

The door opened again and Granger and Weasley entered. Draco felt a bit like throwing himself out of the window. Why were Gryffindors so freaking punctual today? Where the rest of the Hogwarts Houses when one needed them?

"Harry! What are you doing?" Ron looked personally affronted about something. Draco hoped it was the fact that the Weasley was wearing those thread-bare robes in public. He was sadly disappointed when the other boy's eyes pointedly looked at Draco's proximity to the Boy Who Lived.

"Waiting for Charms to start, Ron." Harry replied, "Join us?" He motioned to the empty table beside him. Draco was deeply pleased there was no space for either of them behind him; he might be hexed between the shoulder blades before the end of class if they managed to get a decent shot.

"You're sitting with Malfoy." Weasley added stupidly. Everything he said was stupid actually, that was probably the default Weasley setting, come to think of it. Draco was mildly surprised the world didn't know he and Harry were talking to each other now. So much had changed since the beginning of term: meeting in Diagon Alley, laughing in the Slytherin Common Room, crying into Harry's shoulder, plotting Harry's consequent murder. They'd all been relatively important moments in Draco's recent history, and so much had changed for him. He wondered when he'd assumed the rest of the world had changed too. He felt slightly displaced.

Harry sighed, "We were just chatting about Diagon Alley." This answer seemed to have special significance for the rest of the class. Glancing between Draco and the mudblood and blood-traitor, Harry stood up and said, "See you around Malfoy."

Draco bit his lip to hold in the sting of Harry's leaving, but brushed it away. He was fifty-percent sure he didn't like Harry anyway. The rest of the class gave him a wide berth as they picked their sits, and no matter how hard he tried to pretend they weren't, their stares started to bother him after a few minutes.

All in all, it had been a pretty awful day so far, and it wasn't even morning-tea time yet.

He left the classroom the second the bell rang, slinking out of the door before anyone could stop him. His mood was already sour. His friends loved him on some level, but even he couldn't ask them to risk their lives just to boost his ego. His father was dead, mother missing – _why hadn't she written yet? _

He rather felt like rebelling against something, but well, that was the reason he was in this situation in the first place.

Then Draco Malfoy decided to do something he had never done before.

He skipped his Potions class and went down to the lake instead.

OoOoOoOoO

Potions was as miserable as Harry remembered it to be. Snape seemed to be in a particularly horrible mood, pacing about the room with billowing robes. Harry was sure it was some sort of fire hazard because what if the edges hit a burning cauldron or a caustic brew?

Still, he couldn't help but worry about the fact that Draco hadn't shown up to the class yet. No one had mentioned it either. He knew it wasn't really his place to question the Slytherin. He pretty sure that he didn't like him anyway.

Draco hadn't disappeared because of what Harry had said before Charms though, had he? He was already starting to regret it. Draco had seen the Slytherins walk in, hadn't he? Harry hadn't wanted him to get into more trouble with his House. His friends had been horrible enough; surely Draco knew he had just been trying to protect him from that?

Now Harry was stuck in the Potions' dungeon with the great depressing bat glowering at him just waiting for a mistake and he was having a crisis of faith in his saving people thing. _Well, at least no one was convinced he was turning into the next Dark Lord. _The Ministry of Magic debacle had at least spared him that humiliation.

"Mister Potter."

Harry jumped at the interruption to his thoughts and came eye to eye with the classic Snape glare instead. The tall man seemed pleased to have caught him unaware, the predatory smirk was almost unnerving.

"Stay behind after class." Came the instruction and Harry fought down the indignation that roared up as a result.

"What – umpf!" Came an exclamation from Ron beside him, the red-head rubbed at the pink skin on his forearm where Hermione had pinched him.

"Twenty points from Gryffindor for speaking out turn."

Ron's face coloured red and he shifted restlessly in his seat. Harry had to physically bite his tongue not to respond, what good would it do anyway? They'd only get in more trouble as it was.

By the time lunch had rolled around, Harry found himself standing in Snape's office being informed that Blaise Zabini had been assigned as his tutor for the first two months of classes and provided he passes all the assignment he would be allowed to continue the course. Zabini had positively glowed when Snape informed him that instead of extra credit Slytherin would be awarded fifty points for each half hour lesson.

"Saturday night in this classroom Mister Potter, seven o'clock. Do be prompt." Snape had then all but kicked them out of the office and Harry had left to the kitchens, decided a lunch outside would be nice with Autumn in the air.

He was just biting into a pastry when he saw Draco Malfoy bent over a book at the edge of the lake. Glancing around to be sure that no one was watching him; Harry trudged down the slope and flopped onto the grass beside the young aristocrat.

"Come to discuss Diagon Alley again?"

Harry was mildly surprised at the bite in Draco's voice. "I didn't mean it like that, I just kinda realised the rest of the world expects certain things from us."

Draco smirked, "They always will." His grey eyes searched Harry's face for something but he was evidently satisfied as he continued on with a lopsided smile more than a smirk, "How come you're out here?"

"Avoiding the rumour mill," Harry answered honestly, "last night was insane, everyone kept asking if you called the Death Eaters to the alley and whether I was planning to depose Fudge myself."

"And what did you say?" Draco sounded so casual to Harry's ears that Harry wondered if the Slytherin was actually paying attention to the conversation as he added names to a list printed neatly on the parchment hidden within the pages of the book in his hands.

"That you were an innocent bystander and that Fudge didn't need the assistance because he's made a right mess of things all by himself."

"Yes, he _fudged _things up didn't he?" It was an absent-minded response but it made Harry laugh all the harder. As his own personal hilarity calmed down a little he focused on the list of names.

"What are you doing?" He asked curiously, as he scanned over the list: Blaise Zabini, Pansy Parkinson, Daphne Greengrass, Tobias Romanov, Reid Raleigh and several other seventh years Harry had never heard of.

"Making a list of people who are still my friends."

"How very cheerful of you."

"I do try."

"They're all Slytherins." Harry noted as he looked over the paper.

"Yes."

Harry scowled, more at the world than at Draco, and wondered how it was fair that teenagers were broken into groups and set up against each other for no apparent reason. It wasn't fair that Draco's only friends were in the same house that wanted to kill him. He reached over before Draco could say anything and plucked the quill from porcelain white fingers leaving a black ink stain on Draco's fingertips. Harry would later say that he had no idea what had made him do it, perhaps it was his saving people thing or the memory of the elder boy pressed against his chest as he cried. Either way, Harry Potter crossed a line he'd never thought he would cross.

"What are you doing Harry?" The other boy protested as Harry snatched the list away and scrawled his name on the end of the paper, slightly embarrassed at his own sloppy penmanship when so sharply contrasted to the looping italics of Draco's hand. He smoothed the paper and returned it to Draco's hands trying not to look at the confused grey eyes that were watching him. He didn't regret it though.

He wondered belatedly if he was even allowed to be friends with a Malfoy, it had to be against some sort of Potter rules. He was hit by the sudden impression of Dumbledore informing him he'd be serving detention for this transgression and wanted to laugh. Well, he had had a lot to do with the youngest Malfoy recently. Besides, he'd already established that he was losing his mind? Shouldn't he at least enjoy the ride?

OoOoOoOoO

Friends with Harry Potter? That was definitely against every Malfoy instinct that had ever and would ever exist. Still, given all the incredibly strange events that had occurred since his father had died, it didn't seem like such a completely insane idea. _Comparatively._

Maybe...friends?

He took a moment to think of the boy he knew, rather than the Boy Who Lived. Harry was the one who had stalked him through Diagon Alley, charged into a battle with no shield charms in place and seemed to have no qualms about ordering Medi-Witches about when Draco wasn't receiving the care he required. Harry had astounding anger management issues whenever his friends said something that set him off and an amazing ability to find Draco just when he didn't want to be found.

Draco had been fifty-percent sure he didn't Harry Potter this morning, now he was fifty percent sure he did. As he watched Harry awkwardly fold the paper back into the book he'd been hiding it in, he noted that nothing ad really changed. Harry offered him a smile as he brushed himself off and headed back to the castle. It was in that moment that Draco realised it had really, hadn't it?

It was after dusk when he moved again and after a brief lecture from Severus and the prescription of no less than three detentions with Filch for skipping classes, Draco had retired for the night.

He felt like he had just climbed into bed when he felt his body rousing him to alertness. Footsteps were creeping across the dorm room towards his bed, amplified by the alert spells he'd cast that morning. Stilling as much as could he held his breath, hand sliding under his pillow to grasp his wand. The curtains of his bed were ripped back but he was ready and a stunning spell hit Gregory Goyle in the face.

"It's after mid-night," Nott hissed as the curtains on his four-poster were pulled back. "What are you doing?"

Blaise appeared around the edges of his green coverlet with hair sticking in strange directions, as Crabbe awkwardly pulled his closet friends away from Draco's narrow-eyed gaze.

Draco turned his eyes to Nott and then looked back at his downed ex-friend. "I guess you'd have to ask our dear friend Goyle why he's visiting me in the middle of the night."

"Dude," Blaise responded, as his head returned to the pillow with a dulled thump, "we do _not _need details of your nightly interactions with Goyle. Too much information." Just like that the deadly tension in the room slinked away and they all breathed a sigh of relief. Draco wondered how long they could go before they acknowledged that they were all trying to kill each other. Goyle wouldn't try again, he wasn't smart enough to think outside the box but he certainly wasn't stupid enough to use the failed plan again.

With that he rolled over and tried to sleep again, as Nott enervated Goyle.

He wasn't sure how long he stayed awake that night, listening to the breathing of his housemates and picturing Harry as he wrote his name at the bottom of the list. He had really just been brain storming, intending on destroying it when it was done, but for some reason he leant over to the nightstand, pulled the creased parchment out of the folds of the book and slipped it into the drawer below.

He couldn't bring himself to throw it away.

OoOoOoOoO

Harry managed to make it two days before Hermione cornered him in the common room later at night and demanded to know what he was talking to Draco about in charms class on Monday. Ron sat behind her in his customary sprawl over the couch with a lopsided grin, which told Harry he was at least a little sympathetic that the inquisition was finally here.

"I told you Hermione, I just wanted to be sure he was alright after the attack."

"Why would you even care?" Ron groaned for the third time that night, "The ferret looked fine enough to me."

"He took the curse for me." Harry calmly reminded them, wondering why it was such a big deal that he'd been chatting for Draco.

"I'm just worried, Harry." Hermione said calmly, "I think he might be up to something. I don't trust him."

_But I do. _

Harry was surprised at his mind as it forcefully replied, but thankful the thought had shocked his tongue into silence and he hadn't burst it out. Ron didn't look like he could handle the stress of that revelation right now. Besides, he had no reason to, except the sound knowledge Draco had betrayed Voldemort and was one hundred percent normal when he wasn't springing the word mudblood into regular conversation. He _did _have reason. He just couldn't prove it.

"You will let us know if he tries anything won't you? Oh, Harry, he's not good news."

Harry nodded stiffly, because he was sure that they wouldn't believe any of what he had to say anyway. He wondered if they felt the gap between the wedge a little wider.

"Try not to worry, 'Mione," he told her from his place by the fire. He was regretting the decision to share the news that Voldemort had sent students to kill him with his two best friends. Ron had been oddly clingy since yesterday morning and Hermione had been on constant alert – a process which for her apparently including analysing every conversation he'd had since he'd spoken to their Head of House on Monday. She had been outraged that it had been almost twenty-four hours before he'd even thought to mention it to her. _What if something had happened? _She had asked worriedly as she assured him she would do some research on protective spells and charms.

It was hard not to be touched by her overbearing protectiveness when it came to assassination attempts on his life. It was also strangely refreshing to see that she was indeed taking the matter seriously. Unfortunately, he was getting oddly used to the routine of having people try to kill him. He wondered if the absence of some sort of a threat would make him uneasy. _Probably._

Things had been less awkward since school had started in earnest and their friendship had slipped back into old habits. Ron and Hermione still bickered occasionally over ridiculous things but for the most part things were relatively quiet. Thursday rolled around with few surprises and Harry was one of the first awake. The first Defence against the Dark Arts lesson was something he'd been looking forward to all week. The new Professor, Avellana Curiosian, had so far been rumoured to be both a fair teacher and a decent instructor. Despite several requests for the DA to resume, both he and Hermione had felt it best to ask the Professor for her blessing if she did indeed turn out to be a decent teacher.

He waited patiently for Ron to wake up before decided that he quite waited long enough and prodded him in the back.

"I'm going down for the breakfast, Ron. Hurry up or you'll be late to class."

With that he disappeared down to the Great Hall. It was pretty empty as he slid in, having missed most of the morning rush by waiting for Ron to join him.

Fay Dunbar was at the Gryffindor Table with her red-haired friend Lucille. They both offered him polite smiles but they didn't speak to him beyond that. They had never been close, and they were the only two Gryffindors in his year that had not joined the DA last year. Fay's parents were with the Ministry though, so he supposed it was really no surprise they hadn't supported him.

Ernie MacMillion sent him a beaming smile from the Hufflepuff table with Hannah Abbott. Both had dropped by briefly on Tuesday morning to wish him a belated Happy Birthday. He was pleased to see they had remembered, as no doubt he would have missed their mail whilst he was gallivanting around wizarding London. Ron and Hermione had saved their presents for when they saw him at the Hospital Wing (two boxes of candies from Ron and a thick book on passing his NEWTs from Hermione). He winced at the argument that had resulted in.

Sitting down that the Gryffindor table a comfortable distance from anyone else he started loading his plate with scrambled eggs and bacon. The last of the mail was drifting through with the owls as students made their way to classes. He spied Hedwig fluttering towards him behind a large eagle owl. His eyes tracked her way across the room as until she landed before him and sampled his bacon.

He unwound the letter from her leg, a note from Remus asking that he write to him if he should have any suspicions about his safety or lack thereof, and reminding him that he had the full support of the old Marauder if he needed it. He felt fondly for Remus who was no doubt still struggling with the loss of Sirius as he was.

He folded the parchment and gently brushed Hedwig's feathers. Across the hall he noticed the near empty Slytherin table, and Draco Malfoy untying a letter from the eagle owl. The young aristocrat looked almost relieved for a second as he unfolded the parchment.

"Morning." Ron slouched into a chair beside Harry and distracted him for a second. When he looked back Draco Malfoy was gone and his owl was winging its way back out of the castle. "Where's Hermione?"

Harry grimaced as Ron shovelled a full spoonful of porridge into his mouth. "With Lavender, she didn't want to miss breakfast."

Ron grunted in response around a mouthful of bacon. Porridge and bacon would have seemed like a strange breakfast mix, but Harry had learnt to just go with Ron's eating habits.

"Come on then, we'd better get to class."

They filed into the room with no small amount of trepidation. Defence Professors hadn't exactly had a good run since their year had arrived at Hogwarts and this new professor might be no different.

The class was exceptionally large for a NEWT level course, so large in fact, that she had elected to split them into two classes like they had done in the early years with Gryffindor and Slytherin on Thursdays and Fridays, and Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff taught during the first half of the week.

She was a tall witch in her mid-thirties with dark hair and shrewd eyes, a permanent frown on her features somewhat reminiscent of that of Severus Snape. "Defence against the Dark Arts professors at Hogwarts have been remiss at best," she started, eyeing each student as she spoke and ignoring several indignant protests on Remus's behalf from the Gryffindors. "I will not teach this class until we have established some key acts that ought to have been covered in your first lesson. Firstly, what are the Dark Arts?"

Several hands shot in the air, but she ignored them, "I notice half the class has not raised their hands, perhaps, Mister Longbottom, you might care to explain how you passed your OWLs without being able to define the area of study in which you were tested?"

Neville looked like a deer caught in the headlights, and shook his head rather than answer. Her lips pursed.

"Mister Malfoy." The teenager in question started and looked up from a piece of parchment in his hands. "Perhaps you could define them."

Blushing pink at being caught not paying attention, Draco gave her a cool look and answered, "Anything the Ministry defines as reasonably dangerous to the average wizard or witch, as anything that involves blood magic or necromancy, or as any creature that reacts to humans with natural malice due to magical altering such as were-wolves." If it weren't for the light colouring on his cheeks Harry would never have known Draco had been caught off guard.

Professor Curiosian nodded sagely, "the exact definition from the textbook I assigned. Ten points to Slytherin for reading ahead, do try to pay attention in my class."

Draco nodded and ducked his head down again, but Harry could see the parchment still tightly clenched in his hands. Was something wrong?

The Professor drew her wand and instructions appeared on the board, "For next week's lesson I would like ten inches of parchment on why the Dark Arts are difficult to define and how spells considered light could be considered illegal by the definitions in Ministry legislation." There was a murmur of groans that she spoke over. "For now, please put away your books. Today we will be practising non-verbal shield charms."

OoOoOoOoO

Draco had never been so glad to escape classes as he hurried down to his dormitory after his last class, Transfiguration. He'd lost thirty points that day for not paying attention, but he didn't really care about that. He knew most of the work anyway, his father's tuition had been difficult but it had more than set him up for the challenge of his sixth year at school.

What he hadn't been prepared for was the note he'd received from his mother this morning and his heart had been pounding erratically ever since, waiting for the chance to speak with Severus.

"Temporus," he whispered and the time floated up before him in glowing letters. It was only five-thirty; Severus wouldn't even be back from the evening meal yet. Groaning he paced the room, before fishing the note out of his pocket and re-reading the already well-worn words again.

_D, I've been compromised. Will write as soon as I can –love, N.M. _

He was furious when the words didn't change at all. His mother had been compromised? What did that mean? It had evidently been safe enough to send the letter, but she had sent it before she was safe so maybe she'd done it as a warning, expecting to be captured any moment.

Why did he betray the Dark Lord? He asked himself, churning with worry but quite unable to do a thing about it.

"Malfoy." He spun around and saw Nott stand at the doorway, a wide and disturbingly genuine smile on his face.

"Theo." He only used his first name because he knew it would bother the elder wizard.

"I just had the most pleasant news from my father," he moved into the room and Draco noted that his hands were holding a small parcel. "You see, he ran into _your mother _yesterday. What a surprise, don't you think?"

Draco schooled his face into a careful mask and tried not to choke a little. His mother could surely look after herself. "I'm certainly surprised your father's up to running already. Seeing my mother must have really _torn him up._" Nott wasn't the only one who could duel with the big boys, and Draco was deeply pleased to see him flinch a little at the comment.

"You won't be smiling soon Draco." He edged a little closer. "She'll be caught soon, now they know where she is, and when she does, the Dark Lord has promised to send her inferi body to you on a platter."

Draco could have laughed with relief, she was on the run still, but she wasn't caught yet. He could have kissed the boy before him. Instead he raised an eyebrow and said steadily, "well that's assuming your useless father can find her. Don't hold your breath," he paused at the doorway to the bathroom, "No wait, please, by all means do." He shut it in Nott's face and beamed at the mirror. He had earned a hot shower. His mother would be fine, he reassured himself because there was no way he could help her from here.

OoOoOoOoO

The first attempt on his life wasn't a particularly inspired one. Harry Potter was halfway through his breakfast when it had happened, and barely three people had noticed it was underway until Ginny Weasley had started screaming.

Still, he thought as his trembling fingers clutched at the table and he fought gravity to stay sitting upright, it was an effective plan.

"Harry?"

Words rushed over him like a tidal wave, his arm was burning where something was holding it down.

"Oh Ron, stop, you're hurting him!"

Someone was shuffling around him, "Hermione, get out of the -."

"Oh come on!" He was being hoisting into someone's arms.

"-help you, Ron." Someone else had grabbed his legs.

"Merlin, is that blood?"

"Neville, get Dumbledore."

Was he choking? It felt vaguely like he was, something was dribbling down his chin.

"No, no, Harry? Can you -?"

He couldn't focus on the blurry faces in front of him.

"Miss Granger if you would kindly -."

"Professor! You've got to –."

He felt his jaw pried open and something was trickling down his throat. Now he was sure he was choking, why were they holding his jaw shut?

Panic welled up inside him, someone was shouting his name. He couldn't speak, agony burned into his very being. He swallowed so that he could scream and suddenly it all faded away and he didn't need to. Numbly, he opened his eyes and saw Snape leaning over him with half of the Great Hall gathered around him.

His eyes focussed on the ceiling, at the owls milling around him and he wondered which one had just delivered him a near-death experience.

"He's not responding." Someone said above him, and he looked at the owner of the voice warily because he really felt that he was doing his best and what more could they ask of him? Someone was still screaming, why? He wanted to help them, they shouldn't sound so afraid.

"It's alright," someone whispered against his cheek, and he let his eyes drift shut as chaos broke out around him.

- TBC -

Please review.


	10. Free Fall

**Chapter Ten: Free-Fall**

He slipped into the Hospital Wing past midnight with relative ease. He wasn't really sure why he'd come, but Harry's presence has made him feel safe before. Looking down at the pale face of the Boy Who Lived he sighed heavily. It wasn't working.

Now that he was here he slouched into the chair, unwilling to make the lonely trip back to his dorm room where his friends – _ex-friends _– were no doubt waiting to taunt him with news of his mother's capture or death or any number of the unspeakable horrors his brain was conjuring. Instead, he focused on his newest friend.

There was little evidence that the curse had ever existed, apart from the slight blue tinges on Harry's lips, and his pale skin. Draco sighed again, in an act that he'd used often as a child to get attention from his parents. He wasn't one for talking to the unconscious, he decided, watching over the sleeping boy, but if he was he'd probably tell Harry that the Great Hall had never been so exciting. A smile graced his lips and he settled into the cushions of his chair and savoured the quiet of the room.

He'd been waiting almost all night for the Weasel and Granger to leave so he could slip in. After his shower and evening meal he had been almost incapable of sitting in the dorm room and the restless energy had driven him here to check Potter was still breathing. He was.

Draco had first heard about the curse from Pansy, who'd been positively gloating in the common room. The curse was a master-piece she'd said to Nott with no small amount of delight. Her father had spent hours weaving the magic into the envelope so that when opened it would activate. Mister Parkinson had then sent it to his daughter, to bypass the protection wards at Hogwarts and she had delivered it that morning. She had positively gloated, Draco had felt nauseous.

Potter had opened _it_ during the meal and without any visible reason had wheezed, hands clawing as Weasley's arm as though the incompetent blood traitor would save him. His body had convulsed against the sudden loss of oxygen to his body and then blood had dribbled down his lips.

That was when Granger had started shrieking and the entire table had erupted into pandemonium. Draco lamented missing the excitement but looking at Harry's slowly rising chest was a little glad he had. The other boy had promptly started asphyxiating on his own blood as his lungs liquefied in his chest before being whisked away by Snape and McGonagall. It sounded horrid. In theory anyway.

It was strange, but he'd heard so many stories about things so much worse he'd had trouble being all that worried. Harry Potter didn't die from a cursed letter. It was almost laughable. _Impossible. _

Here though, Draco found his restless energy was not soothed but tormented. His glanced around the ward before reaching out to rest his fingers on Harry's wrist, just to check the pulse was still there. The steady thrumming of blood through veins reassured him enough to relax slightly, but he kept his fingers pressed to the warm skin of the other boy's arm. It was almost comforting, grounding.

He closed his eyes against the fear that his mother was dying somewhere, that his classmates would murder him...or Harry. Taking a deep breath, almost mirroring the steady breathing of his silent companion, Draco smiled. He was strong enough to do this, he reminded himself, no one else had died yet. He was immensely thankful to his father for that.

It had been five days since his mother had sent him that note and he'd yet to hear anything from her. Potter had been avoiding him and Severus was refusing to share information.

"She'll write when she can." He told Potter quietly, if only to fill the awkward silence.

"Mmm?"

He snatched his hand away from Harry's arm like it was burnt as the other boy shifted in the bed slightly, turning his face to Draco.

"Harry?" He whispered. _How was he going to explain this, exactly? _

"Draco?" Green eyes opened groggily to look up at him, confusion darted around them. A thrill of pleasure darted up his spine at the thought that Harry had recognised him without his glasses. Reaching over to the table he picked them up and pressed them into the Gryffindor's hand.

"Finally decided to join the land of the living have you?" He asked quietly, his eyes flicked from Harry's to the shaking hands that couldn't bring the hideous glasses to their place above green eyes. Should he help? He felt like he was overstepping his boundaries even being in the room.

"Wha' happnd?" Harry's eyes slid closed again, but his hands still writhed in the attempt to put his glass on.

"You found yet another novel way to skip class, Potter." Draco said, snatching the glasses back and placing them gently on the other boy's face.

"Oh." Harry's eyes opened again and looked at him expectantly. "Why're you...here?"

"The cheerful atmosphere." Draco deadpanned and sighed loudly, just to remind Potter that it was late and he was tired and it really had been a long day. Not everyone got to sleep away their aching chest wounds whenever they wanted.

Harry looked at him with a frown, as if he wasn't quite sure if Draco was having him on or not. "Mmmkay."

The wide green eyes watched as Draco's smiled broadened, "Still half-asleep, you lazy prat?"

"Mmhmm." Harry's eyes fluttered closed and Draco huffed, removing his glasses gently again.

"Don't expect me to tutor you when you fail your classes." He told the slumbering boy snidely before standing up and making his way out of the room.

Running his fingers along the cold stone wall of the corridor he smiled at the portraits as he passed. Visiting Potter – _Harry – _had given him an idea.

OoOoOoO

"Harry, Harry? Come away from the ledge." He turned slightly, against the wind and saw her beckoning him. Hesitant he took a step towards her. Red hair whipped around her face, she watched with soft eyes, "Come on Harry, come away."

She was worried for him. Some part of him felt strangely warm. He stepped forwards again, reaching out to touch her outstretched hands. He had wanted this so badly, just a few inches closer and dreams could come true.

Fingers flinched back without meaning to, her skin was boiling.

"Come away from the edge Harry." He stepped towards him but he suddenly felt the need to back away. Her skin rippled, bubbled, become something else.

"Come away."

He scrambled backwards, desperate, his feet slipped on the loose rock, losing ground for a second, flailing in mid-air for a heart-stuttering minute before they found purchase again.

"Come Harry."

He couldn't take it another moment, he pushed backwards into the emptiness and let the sea swallow him whole. Her hands grabbing at his body as his slipped away.

"Come away Harry." She whispered, he could see her above, watching his fall.

The waves crashed over him and he started awake, panting heavily and looking around the dim room. Taking a shuddering breath he realised he was awake. The warm light of the sun filtered into the Hospital Wing and made him shut his eyes with a groan. How did he manage to get himself into these situations?

"Good morning, Harry."

His eyes snapped open again; surprised he had missed the lurid pink robes encasing Dumbledore the first time he'd looked. "Professor?" He scrambled to sit up, he was tired and for some reason, despite the magical warming in the room, his lungs burned as though he were outside in a ice-storm.

"Lemon drop?" The proffered sweets were too tempting to resist, "How are you feeling?"

"Alright I think." He took a deep breath and choked on the air, he fell back onto the covers and felt immediately better. "What happened?" He slipped the sweet between his lips and felt soothed by the familiar taste.

The aged wizard looked old, older than he ever had to Harry. In that moment he was struck by the fact that the blue eyes before him didn't twinkle. When had the light died? "I'm afraid I must once again beg forgiveness from you, my boy." A weight was settled on those shoulders that seemed the curve them slightly, "I have let harm come to you once more."

"Professor -." Lost for words, the boy frowned.

"It's called _Bledem Bradam."_

"Bleeding Brayden? What's that?"

"_Bledem Bradam, _the _Bleeding Breath." _The wizard settled forward in the chair to gaze at Harry's eyes closely, "A curse to melt the lungs in the body and cause the victim the either bleed out or choke to death...or drown."

He couldn't stop the reflexive flinch that shuddered through his body, he was suddenly intensely pleased to have the lemony flavour in his mouth because he was sure he'd have imagined coppery blood if he had not. "Bleeding Breath?" He asked faintly, and was struck with the strangest thought – _how could it be bleeding breath if you had no lungs? _He wondered why he didn't feel sick. _Repulsed._

"The curse was sent to you by a classmate – it's the only way it could have by-passed the wards on the castle. If you had opened the letter alone you would have died, as it was Severus was only just able to administer a general healing potion which slowed the process enough for you to be saved."

"Oh."

"I am so sorry, Harry."

_Everyone always was. _

Harry wondered why he wasn't more distressed: either he was in shock or he was used to it. Either way he should probably be worried.

OoOoOoOoO

"Sev?"

The Potions classroom was empty, but the door to his office was wide open so Draco took it was an invitation to enter.

"Have you nothing better to do, Draco?" came the wearied response that set a smile to the young aristocrat almost instantly, but the Potions Master spelled the door shut anyway.

"Of course not, Sev." He closed the door and sat cross legged on the desk, watching the Potions Master work over the shelves filled with odd bottles and ingredients.

"Well make yourself useful, sort these." The pile of freshly collected herbs from Professor Sprout landed in his lap. Picking up one of the plants he studied it for a moment.

"Valeriana?"

"Are you asking me?"

"No," Draco sifted it into a jar and sealed it, "Depresses the nervous system." He said quietly remembering his classes with his father*.

A nod from Severus made him grin.

"Okay then..." He looked back at the pile and sighed – mostly to get Sev's attention.

"I should have known," his Godfather turned back to him and settled in the seat opposite, looking pointedly at where Draco's shoes were resting on a first year's potions essay. "What is it?"

"I have a favour to ask."

"Oh, Merlin save me."

"Careful Sev, you almost sounded sarcastic for a moment there."

"How kind of you to take note." Sev's face was set in a scowl, but his eyes creased a little, a sort-of Slytherin smile, caged. _Masked. _

"I want to be assigned as Potter's tutor."

Severus' lips twitched, the beginnings of a smile on them. "Please Draco, don't toy with me."

"I'm not."

"What makes you think you'd be suitable as a tutor for the Boy-Who-Lived."

"Well, I'm not trying to kill him." He shrugged nonchalantly, "and I thought, well...he'd be useful." He wasn't exactly going to admit that he'd decided to be friends with Harry Potter, mostly because he wasn't sure if Snape's heart could handle to strain. As it was black eyes had narrowed dangerously and he could tell his Godfather was almost physically fighting from invading his mind. He'd promised not to.

"Very well," Severus sat back in his seat, evidently he'd come to a conclusion alone. _Unaided. _"No extra credit. You answer to the Headmaster when he fails."

Success was familiar feeling to Draco Malfoy, when he wanted something; he never failed to get it. _Ever. _Feeling strangely light, he wondered if Harry would still be in the Hospital Wing – he wanted to share the good news.

And as Draco made his way up the stairs it didn't once occur to him that he was meant to hate Harry Potter.

OoOoOoOoO

Harry shifted in the bed, resting against the pillows Hermione had fixed twice and trying not to wrinkle the blankets lest she start smoothing them again. Still, at least her eyes had stopped welling up whenever she looked at him.

Not that Ron was much better. He was _fidgety. _Even more strange, perhaps, was the fact that Ron was rambling, and had been for the half an hour they'd been in the room. "-It's not like we were worried mate, I mean _an envelope _can't kill you...Well, not that we weren't _concerned _but there was never any doubt that – and the bloody post! Who'd have thought parchment was so dangerous! Do you think I can claim some sort of trauma and avoid writing essays – not to joke, because it wasn't funny, it really wasn't. Hermione said -."

It must have terrifying, Harry noted, to watch him suddenly fall like the marionette with its strings cut. Boneless. _Lung-less. _

He still felt strange, like he was either breathing in air that was much too cold or much too humid, though Madam Pomfrey had assured him it would pass with a few days rest. He'd been given three days off from classes but was more pleased to be avoiding class with Blaise, who'd yet to do anything but make him read the textbook.

"Neville dropped by to see you." Hermione calmly, interrupting Ron's discussion just as Harry was amusedly toying with the idea of asking how the conversation would go if the rest of them were allowed to join it. "You were asleep."

"That was nice of him." His mind flashed back to the dream he'd had last night. He was so sure he'd woken to find Draco standing over him, with a harm hand pressed against his. Trying not to blush at the memory, because the thing that had really struck him was how delicately strong and unbeatable the other boy had looked in the pale moonlight. He wasn't sure what scared him most, the fact that he was dreaming of Malfoy looking like an avenging angel or the fact that his mind was using the words "pale moonlight" to describe it. _Ron would kill him. _

"He seems happier." Hermione noted, "I think his Grandmother has been a bit easier on him since his grades improved with the DA last year."

"Are we starting the DA again mate?" Ron piped up.

He wanted to say no, because it had been such an extreme circumstance and he'd just led his friends into danger. "Look, I don't-."

"I do miss it," Hermione said, "you know, the three of us hanging out." She had a point, between him almost dying and his strange new _thing _with Draco – _don't think about his hand on yours – _he hadn't had much time for his friends, and he wanted to.

"When I'm feeling better." He whispered, and couldn't help but smile when their beaming smiles almost blinded him.

oOoOoOoOo

It was mid-afternoon when the blond head appeared around the doors and Harry was glad Hermione and Ron had gone to research DA lessons in the library. A part of him was delighted they didn't seem to be fighting but something was different with them.

"Defeated by an envelope, Harry," Draco said as he flopped into Hermione's empty seat, "I do hope you're feeling a little foolish."

Harry simply grinned, a heartbeat away from telling Draco he was glad the Slytherin had come, was glad he cared. "Hogwarts would be boring without me."

Draco inclined his head in agreement and Harry wondered what he was thinking. "What are you up to Malfoy?" He asked, surprised it didn't come out with the venom he'd intended because he absolutely _wasn't _thinking about Draco's lithe form stealing into the Hospital Wing by night.

The boy flashed him a radiant grin, and Harry wondered if he was melting again. He coughed at the thought. _He didn't like Draco bloody Malfoy! _

"Are you ok?"

_He didn't! _Not even when he looked almost concerned. "Fine." He nodded tersely.

"Good, I didn't want to explain to Dumbledore why I'd killed you."

He absolutely did not under any circumstances like that mischievous grin. _Oh Merlin! _Something was wrong with him, for sure.

"I brought good news," The other boy continued on oblivious to Harry's internal drama. "Severus agreed to let me replace Blaise as your tutor."

"What?" Harry sat up. It wasn't enough Draco's stupid presence was torturing him now, he had to sit alone with him once a week now too?

"No more Blaise, you know, the guy who to tells the whole school you're too stupid to read?"

"Why would you even do that?" Anger appeared from somewhere and Harry knew it was stupid when he said it, but he had to – he wasn't about to go about dreaming of Draco in a Potions Lab too.

"I thought you'd be pleased." The porcelain skin at Draco's brow wrinkled in confusion.

_Oh Merlin, he knew about the dream! _Was he blushing? "Why – why would I be pleased about that?" He stammered, anger and embarrassing and racing for a way to explain this all away.

"You said we were friends," Draco was on his feet, "I assumed that meant you'd prefer me over Blaise." His voice dropped to condescending levels, "_My mistake." _As only a Malfoy could, he was up with a sneer of disdain and stalking from the room.

"No – I-." It was come out wrong, Harry knew it, and he was pushing back the covers in a heartbeat. The sudden rush of cooler air hitting him made his lungs seize, but he jumped to his feet anyway. "Draco!"

The boy in question spun around, but whatever he had been meaning to say was never said as in that moment Harry flew full force into him, arms around his avenging angel, lips catching the words before they could form. His lungs were burning, he was running out of air but he didn't care. He focused instead on defying physics and trying to occupy all of the space Draco did.

Hands settled firmly on his chest and pushed back with sudden force. "What _the hell _are you doing Potter?"

Had he actually just done that? Merlin, he'd kissed Draco. Why did he do that? He liked _girls. _He didn't even like Draco – did he? "I just – I meant..." He coughed, knees weakening under the strain. _Shock. _

"What?" Draco's face was blank, masked. His eyes were a margin too wide though, had Harry scared him? The look forced him to find his tongue again.

"I prefer you to Blaise." He said dumbly, and immediately wanted to kick himself.

Pale lips twitched into a smile, "Of course you do, who wouldn't?" The Slytherin looked almost smug. Hope fluttered in Harry's chest and he spluttered for a moment, breathing as deeply as if he'd run a marathon.

"Draco." He whispered, because he could barely put a word together let alone a sentence. Where was his brain to figure all of this out for him? "I need to get back to bed." The admission surprised him, but he was tired and trembling and felt like falling over.

The answering smirk only grew, "Potter, you'll have to take me to dinner first. I'm not that kind of guy."

That was it: there wasn't air in the room. He was surely dreaming as – with surprising strength – Draco Malfoy hooked an arm around his shoulders and all but heaved him back to his bed.

"What just happened?" He asked dazedly.

"I believe," came the amused response as he was pushed into the soft pillows by warm hands, "that I just agreed, most graciously, to dinner with you."

Harry wondered if perhaps death-by-envelope had not been the most beautiful thing to ever happen to him. His skin burned where Draco touched him and he closed his eyes, trying to memorise the feeling as though he could draw it in and warm his whole body.

"Should I get Pomfrey?"

"Nah, just...let me catch – my breath."

"It's ok; I am pretty breath-taking." Draco said seriously.

A moment later, when Madam Pomfrey walked into the door she wondered at the sight: Harry Potter roaring with laughter as Draco Malfoy shrugged helplessly at her and said quite calmly, "It really wasn't that funny."

- TBC -

I am so sorry this chapter took so long and apologise profusely for it being so ridiculously short – thanks for sticking with me this far!

*I argue that muggle medicine & science _must _have crossed over to the wizarding world at some point or vice-versa. To not have established the nervous system would be a bit ridiculous at this stage of society, given the integration of muggle-born children alone. :) Maybe I think about these things too much...

- Please Review -


	11. Shatter Point

Thankyou to all my reviewers (and especially to 'Purple Trees' and 'I agree' both of whom I could not message individually) and to everyone who is reading, favouriting or following.  
This one is for you:

**Chapter Eleven: Shatter Point**

It had taken all of two minutes for Madam Pomfrey to force Harry into drinking a sleeping draught and turn accusatory eyes to Draco, who was a little pleased to see Harry's lips were set in a goofy smile as his green eyes slipped shut. Even if Harry was still wheezing a little bit, he looked peaceful.

The blond left the Hospital Wing without complaint, feeling a little light-headed and absent-mindedly running a finger across his lips as if tracing Harry's presence there. Was he imagining all of this?

First kisses had always been romanticised for him, his mother had dreamily told him about hers: at fourteen with Rabastan Lestrange in the light summer rain during the Hogsmeade weekend. Though, his father had always snidely added that Lestrange had caught cold not long before it happened and they'd both been bed-ridden for six days after. Narcissa would laugh and kiss his cheek – because it was a story she only shared in private – and tell him that the broom closet on the third floor was much more romantic anyway.

Draco's had technically been with Pansy at age twelve. It had been a chaste peck on the lips when they'd decided to love each other _forever and ever. _Of course, he'd broken her heart a week later by telling her he'd rather marry Blaise because Zabini understood his sense of humour. He hadn't been serious of course, but it had been _quite _the drama at the time.

Besides, he'd never really enjoyed kissing her; largely because it felt somehow deeply wrong and far too intimate for the girl he had since come to think of as a sister.

_This kiss _– the one with Harry – would be his first _real _kiss, he decided. He hadn't expected the Gryffindor to crash into him demanding the passion, commanding attention, urgent and desperate with a bruising fervour. Harry's hands had wrapped around Draco's shoulders. _Possessive. _

At first he'd been too stunned to move and then he'd panicked because his brain wasn't working like it normally did. Now he had that to thank for a date...it was a date wasn't it?

Scowling at his newfound doubt, Draco rounded the corner and came face-to-face with Neville Longbottom. The other boy had wide eyes as he took in Draco. The Slytherin idly noted that he must have looked particularly dishevelled and a sight blush rose to his cheeks.

"Watch where you're going, Longbottom."He warned.

Anger flashed through the dark brown eyes watching him but as expected the pudgy Gryffindor backed away submissively, scrounging on the floor for the – _apricots? – _that had fallen from his hands. Draco took the moment to run a hand through his hair so it was neat against the evidence of Harry's exploring grasp.

"Neville?" Fay Dunbar appeared at the end of the hall carrying a fruit basket. "Malfoy. What are you doing here? What's he doing here, Neville?" A frown set onto her plain face. She looked just like her blood-traitor mother with a vapid stare. He dismissed the irony of calling her a blood-traitor as soon as his mind noted it. He wasn't going to change a life-time of habits.

"I don't know." Neville replied softly, straighten and placing the apricots in the basket before lifting it from her hands.

"I'd love to stay," Draco pulled out his best drawl, the one he saved for particularly bothersome people, "but I'm afraid if we start discussing all the things Longbottom doesn't know we'll be here for years." Smoothing his robes he helped himself to an apple from the basket and walked away resisting the urge to check his tie wasn't out of place.

"Hey-!" Came the shout from behind but he didn't respond. It wasn't like he was going to eat it, but he'd rather they were thinking about how horrid he was and not the fact that he was slightly out of breath, blushing and dishevelled after leaving the Hospital Wing that currently only housed one _Harry Potter. _Harry should be the one to tell them.

oOoOoOoOo

The Slytherin common room was quiet when he slipped inside. The only other occupants where three first year girls struggling to contain a Cornish Pixie for reasons he could not decipher.

"Immobulus." They all froze as if his spell had hit them, "Go to the sixth year dorm and get Parkinson. ... Now!"

With a squeak the smallest girl was on her feet and disappearing up the staircase looking relieved to be leaving the room.

Draco watched her go and fixed the others with a scowl. His first order of business as Harry Potter's _maybe _dinner date was to stop Pansy from killing him before he'd had the chance to decide if he actually wanted Potter or not. He'd always hated it as a child when she'd stolen his playthings and age was no deterrent to his temper.

"Draco."

His eyes narrowed as he pointedly glared at the first year behind her, "This is not Parkinson." He growled.

"Oh leave them," Daphne snapped, "they've got enough to deal with." She motioned to the pixie as the younger students closed the cage just in time for the spell to deteriorate. Reminding himself that Daphne was one of the limited people not trying to kill him, Draco sighed and forced back his anger.

"Do I want to know the story behind that?" he joked.

"I doubt it." She replied darkly, "what do you want?" they moved as a unit to sit at the opposite side of the room.

"To talk to Pansy."

"She's not well."

"She seemed positively cheery last night." He said bitterly.

"She didn't know what was in the letter." Daphne seethed back, "we never figured it would even get past the wards. Merlin...then Nott was singing her praises! What was she meant to say?" Her black hair fell over her eyes as she dropped her face into her hands. "She's trapped, Dray, and I can't save her this time."

Silence settled between them.

"Are you going to get her expelled?" Daphne never cried, but Draco had never seen her look so dejected before. Draco forced himself to remember that he wasn't the only one who loved Pansy, the girl who had refused to kill him even when her parents had demanded it of her.

"She's family." He replied, and he was sure it was still true even if she never spoke to him again. He couldn't be the reason his sister lost everything. He'd just have to find some other way to protect Harry.

"Thank you." The word had so much emotion behind it Draco had to contain his surprise. Daphne deflated with relief. Pansy wasn't the only one he was protecting, he noted: Daphne had known about the plot too.

"Is it better?" she whispered, "is it somehow better running away and abandoning _Him?_"

His father's last fleeting moments with him came to mind, along with the tear-stained cheeks of his mother as she turned her back on him, her last letter and the little cracks of emptiness he felt every day he didn't hear from her, his belongings scrounged from black markets or sometimes in the hands of his classmates, Goyle's face as he had to be stunned, and Pansy gloating to Nott.

"No," he was disarmed by the honesty as he forced himself to focus on the last thing that came to mind: Harry. Harry crashing into him with powerful kisses, wrapping strong arms around him as Draco cried in the dorm over his father. "but I don't regret it."

Nothing could amend the loss of his family, his friends. _His life. _Yet, freedom had been wonderful in its own way. One day, far from now, he could almost imagine happiness. _Atonement. _

Daphne wrapped her arms around him, her chin resting on his shoulder, "I'm glad." She whispered, as though talking any louder would shatter the moment. "I miss you, Dragon."

"I miss you too, Daph." He mumbled into her hair. She took a deep breath, and then pressed closer, her warm breath at his ear.

"So, who is he?"

"Who's who?" Draco replied.

"The one who made it all worth-while," she pulled back to study his face, "You've been smiling at pieces of paper and day-dreaming for days. With everything that's going on, you either have a birthday coming up _and I know you don't _or you've found someone to make the pain go away. Who is he?"

"He's..." A small smile slipped onto his face, "_wonderful_."

OoOoOoOoO

Neville had dropped by to visit again; he'd brought a fruit basket up from the Greenhouses with a grin and gone into great detail for Harry about how his latest project was a comparison of _muggle _gardening to the magical means. He was using fruit, he said joyfully, because the mandrakes hadn't responded will to being watered and he couldn't bear the thought of playing classical music over the top of their screaming.

"They're all muggle grown!" He said joyfully, "Except the apricots, they're magical but they're Fay's favourite so I figured why not?"

"Fay Dunbar?"

Harry smiled at the blush on Neville's cheeks but extended mercy to him by asking about the music he was using because he didn't really want to pursue a conversation about who liked who, lest Neville turn the tables on him. There was no way he was discussing Draco.

He'd been elated when he'd woken up, but now was alternating between joy and crushing despair. _Terror. _

Draco Malfoy oozed sophisticated, so what had the Boy-Who-Lived-In-A-Cupboard to offer him?

Neville had apparently sensed his distraction and left barely ten minutes into his visit with a warm wish to see Harry better soon. That had left Harry with his thoughts.

Draco hadn't kissed him back – _why hadn't Draco kissed him back? _What if Draco didn't like him? Then, why would he agree to dinner? Unless dinner wasn't a date?

Did Harry want it to be a date? He didn't _like _guys, did he? Maybe he should cancel before he embarrassed them both by having to explain that he wasn't – _Merlin! _He'd kissed Draco Malfoy!

Draco!

Draco, who had lean muscle and a firm chest and those perfect pale lips that parted slightly when Harry has pressed against them with his own. Draco who had for a fleeting moment looked so upset when he had thought Harry wasn't his friend. That fleeting moment was locked into his mind.

A familiar need to protect quashed his terror, _again. _He had reached the same conclusion for the fifteenth time in an hour: _Harry liked Draco _and he wanted, almost achingly badly, for this dinner to be a date. The realisation brought him full circle because what if Draco didn't want it to be? Draco hadn't kissed him back. What if _Draco didn't like Harry? _

"Wow mate, we come in peace!"

"Huh?" He jerked from his thoughts almost aggressively.

"You alright?" Ron asked, "You look angry."

Hermione was looking pointedly at the sheets Harry was wringing with nervousness.

"Nah, just frustrated," Harry sighed, "I think I'm over-thinking because I'm bored in here." He noted belatedly Ron's use of muggle slang and his scowl was renewed because it reminded him of all the things Hermione had shared with Ron over the summer whilst Harry had been stuck in the Dursley house known as Hell-on-Earth.

"Are you feeling better at least?" Hermione asked as she sat down on the chair Draco had taken before. Though it had technically been her's first, his mind had already given claim to his elusive Slytherin.

"Yeh, I guess."

"Professor Dumbledore told me to tell you that until they can determine the culprit they're stopped all your mail coming through." She looked sympathetic.

Harry snorted, "That's certainly nothing new."

She frowned but didn't say anything.

"I'm sorry," he sighed, "I'm just..."

"It's ok." She smiled, "this has all been a little crazy."

"Yeh." He was so desperately glad she understood. He wasn't up to fighting with them and worrying about dying before he got to go on a date with Draco. "What have you guys been up to?" Hermione immediately blushed and Ron looked away. "Guys?" He frowned.

"Oh just...just researching." Hermione replied airily.

"Researching _what_ exactly?"

"Malfoy!" Ron jumped into the conversation loudly. There was a beat of silence as both Harry and Hermione turned to look at him with incredulous faces.

"Mafloy?"

Harry's blood ran cold, was Draco alright?

"Yeh..." Ron shuffled awkwardly, "we thought he might have, you know..." He flashed a hand at his face.

"What are you doing with your hand?" Hermione asked, torn between bewilderment and amusement.

Ron's face went red, "you know, killed you...well, tried to."

"Ron, on what planet is does this," Harry made the same motion of flicking his fingers into his own face from a fist and quickly withdrawing them, "mean killing someone?"

"Oh Ron." Hermione's hand slapped into her forehead. "You idiot."

"I thought it..." Ron's face coloured, "isn't that what the light of the killing curse looks like?"

Harry's face froze; he blinked as his mind involuntarily conjured the blinding green hurtling towards him and flinched away from it. Morbidly he held the moment in his mind for a second and slowly reached his hand up and repeated the action.

"Harry? Are you alright?" Hermione was on her feet.

Harry shrugged, a smile pulling at his lips, "I guess it kinda does." He wrinkled his nose, "or it would, if it wasn't so ridiculous."

Ron stared between them, "Well what else was I supposed to do?"

"You could have said it?" Hermione sniffed angrily. "Honestly, you ought to be more considerate of what Harry's going through."

Behind her back, Harry slowly drew a finger across his throat with a mock grimace, and wondered if he was answering the question or predicting Ron's imminent demise.

"Sorry," Ron said over Hermione's building steam, and shot a grin at his best friend.

Harry nodded with a smile on his face, the insensitivity already forgotten. It wasn't like he was the only one to ever get hit by the killing curse and he knew Ron hadn't meant it like that. He was almost glad, that they'd shifted the focus away from Draco. Draco. Draco: who hadn't kissed Harry back.

With a sigh he threw himself back on the pillows, at least he knew what was going to amuse him whilst Hermione finished her rant.

He was saved however from dissecting his dream of Draco standing over him in the Hospital Wing by the mention of the word _Malfoy _in the conversation that was slowly turning its attention back to him. Unable to stop listening now that he'd started, he watched as Ron began to elaborate on his theory that Draco had indeed tried to off him with a piece of parchment. Harry wondered if he should interrupt with the quiet observation that Draco had been alone with him so many times the effort of getting an owl involved seemed a little unnecessary.

"I've seen him," Ron insisted, finally collapsing into his seat across from Hermione, "he watches you during class."

"No he doesn't." Harry denied immediately, he knew because he'd been watching Draco, but Ron carried on with his theory without acknowledging the interjection.

"He was carrying a letter around all week – maybe it was his orders to do it. He's a coward, bet it took all this time to work up the nerve-"

"He's not a coward."

"-and I mean, it's so obvious he's a Death Eater, he's always skulking about. He didn't even have the guts to give it -."

"He's not a coward."

"-to you in person. Slimy Slytherins. Maybe we could get him expelled for it?"

"Ron!" Harry broke in, "He didn't do it."

"I'm sorry?" Hermione broke in, she looked confused.

"Don't call him a coward." Draco was one of the bravest people he knew, in his own way, but there were so many kinds of courage. Draco might seem a little small when he was surrounded by Goyle and Crabbe but Harry had held him – _kissed him – _and Harry knew that he wasn't weak or easy to get the better of.

"What is wrong with you, Harry?" the red-head was leaning forward, "you've been defending him all year, it's disgusting."

"I told you, he betrayed Voldemort."

"No, you _think _he betrayed Voldemort. Merlin! You've been tricked before or don't-."

"I know! It wasn't a trick!" Harry was sitting up now too. He was sure; he couldn't doubt the vision, not with all he'd seen. Draco wasn't always a nice, but he wasn't a bad person. "I know what I saw! Draco is-."

"_Draco?" _Hermione almost spat the word at him, "You're calling him _Draco _now?"

"He's a Slytherin!"

"After all the things he's done? You know what he thinks of me!"

"He's evil, they all are!"

"Evil?" Harry spat, he shoved the covers back and stood because he couldn't take the restless energy that was pent up inside, "Evil? He's sixteen years old, for Merlin's sake! How could he be evil?"

"The inquisitorial squad," Hermione was on her feet too, he face flushed as Ron went to join her so they were facing Harry across the bed. "He's a pure-blooded bigot. He bullies Neville! He was the reason Buckbeak almost died! He – he – can you even _hear _yourself, Harry?" Her words were loud, but she wasn't shouting because she didn't need to. "Explain to me how you could be defending with the person who thinks I'm not _worthy _of being here."

"I..." His brain froze. He hadn't thought of Draco like that before, "I'm not saying I like him, alright? He just, he didn't try to kill me and he's not evil." What else could he say? He didn't even understand why Draco was so fixated on the idea of blood but he _knew _Draco was good at heart. He _knew _it.

Hermione shook her head and was gone, the three defence textbooks she'd brought with her fell the floor without her hands to steady them. Ron heaved and sigh and followed her. "Guess I'll see you later, mate."

Frustrated, Harry picked up the textbooks and threw them on the seat. Was Draco messing with him? _No, _but a little voice whispered _yes _and he couldn't drive it away.

OoOoOoOoOoO

"Harry?"

He was instantly on alert as Professor McGonagall used his given name. He'd been brooding alone for a few hours, since his friends had hurriedly left, and was alternating between wondering what he was doing and fighting the urge to find Draco just so he could confirm that his lips really _were _as soft as he remembered.

"Professor?" He was slightly pleased he had his Potions textbook open, pretending to study to keep from vacantly staring at the ceiling.

"I just came to discuss the new safety measures we have decided in light of this new threat," She glanced at the chair but evidently decided against making herself too comfortable. "You recall our last discussion?"

Of course he did, she'd told him someone was trying to kill him but not to worry because there was no possible way they'd succeed. Technically, she hadn't been wrong, but Harry felt she could have perhaps could have mentioned that it would be so touch and go.

"Harry," She fixed him with a stern gaze, "I'm afraid we have been unable to locate the student involved."

He knew that already, because the rumours would have made it to him in a heartbeat had there been any action taken. Gossip certainly had its uses.

"In light of this, we have decided to stop all mail sent to you."

Harry nodded, it seemed logical. _Familiar. _The voice in his head was getting bitter.

"The Headmaster is screening all mail and will inform you if there are message you need to know. Your Aunt and Uncle have been informed of this new development."

The mental image of Aunt Petunia receiving an owl made him smile slightly, or better yet, he imagined Mad-Eye Moody dropping by with the news. They'd recognise the aged wizard in a heart-beat he was sure, because Vernon had lamented being seen at the train station talking to him at the beginning of summer for weeks and verbosely insisting that _he didn't get to me, at all! _

"I'm afraid I must insist that you remain in your dorm except for classes and meals, which must be taken in the Great Hall. Your Potions tutor will collect you from the Portrait whenever you agree is necessary."

"That's not fair!" He whispered, why was he being punished for almost dying?

"Unfortunately, we have deemed Quidditch -."

"_No!"_

"-to be a far too great a-."

"_Professor! No! Please -."_

"-risk for you to remain on the team."

He gaped at her, his protests dying on his lips.

"I'm sorry, Harry."

He knew that she was, truly believed it and that's why he didn't fight her, he just stared and waited for his hands to release their death grip on sheets. Today had started so well. _Regret. _

Some instinctive level panged for companionship, as if he could bury himself in arms and hide away from it. That was a feeling he was familiar with. As she wished him good luck with his studies, the Professor left him alone.

Harry huffed, and found himself wishing Draco were close by to offer a snide remark that would break the tension. Longing to feel his arms around him, Harry sighed. He wasn't going to take this, he decided. He was going to find the person he tried to kill him.

If the world was going to deny him the right to freedom he would take it. Voldemort might have stepped up his game this year, but he wasn't the only one who could.

Eyes narrowed at his Potions text, not really seeing it, Harry realised he needed to train. Then, he needed to work out just how Voldemort could be killed.

oOoOoOoOo

Daphne had disappeared back to Pansy with a smile on her lips and another heartfelt thankyou that left Draco feeling strangely light. Things were working out. He knew it. For the first time in days he felt had some semblance of control in his life. He could _do _this.

Turning back to the hallways out of the Common Room he started heading towards the Great Hall and his evening meal. He rather fancied a curried pumpkin pie. His mother had loved them as a child and she'd insisted the House Elves learn the recipe from Hogwarts so she could have them on cold winter nights.

It wasn't winter yet, admittedly, autumn was evident in the coloured leaves falling from the Whomping Willow. He'd always gone out of his way to step on them as he roamed the grounds, the satisfying crunch worth the tiny detours he'd take.

It was slightly cooler in the corridors though; the heat of summer was already well faded.

It was for this reason that Draco took the slightly longer route to the Great Hall, following the warmer air the tended to settle around the Potions Labs rather than the short-cut past the un-used classrooms that was the most common passageway to the Slytherin dorms.

It was for this reason that Draco was alone when Theodore Nott, Gregory Goyle and Vincent Crabbe appeared around the corner.

Sinister smiles spread across their faces as they realised who they'd happened across in the descending darkness.

"Draco, my old friend," Nott's smile was less of an expression and the presentation of perfectly white teeth. "We were _just _coming to see you."

"How convenient then." Draco said, taking a moment to move backwards, hoping to round the corner and vanish.

"You see, I've been talking to some friends of ours," Nott carried on, "and they've told me some _very _interesting things about what you've been up to of late."

"Try not to be jealous, Nott." Draco sneered.

"Oh I'm not," the boy was casually examining the back of his hand, pretending to pick dirt out from under his nail, "but I've heard tell that you and _Potter _seem to be close."

Draco's bottom lipped twitched before he could stop it, but he schooled his horror into polite indifference instead. "We're about four floors apart actually."

"Really?" Nott looked downright predatory. "I hear that you were _awfully _close this afternoon."

_He wasn't going to throw up. He wasn't going to throw up. _

"Who _have _you been talking to Nott?" Draco replied with as much exasperation as he could muster, before rolling his eyes and looking pointedly between Crabbe, Goyle and Nott as though they all knew Nott was crazy.

"Oh you know, _people._"

_Please no. _Who else knew? Had Harry told someone? Who did he trust?

Nott was pushing ahead, stalking closer, almost circling him. "So, in light of recent _events,_" Draco was sure he was shaking as Nott slipped closer with poisoned words, "you're going to do us a little bit of a favour."

"Why would I do that?" _Suspicious. _

"Because if you don't, you'll get the complete set." Nott pushed a box into Draco's hand, it looked like the jewellery boxes that his mother had kept her pearl necklaces in. He could always remember stacking them one atop the others while he waited for her to get ready for parties.

"What's this?" He frowned; he didn't want to open it. _Stalling. _

"You're going to swear, right now, using an Unbreakable Vow to put vials of this," Nott held up a clear bottle of liquid and shook it for effect, "into Potter's drink every night for the next week and make sure he drinks it."

Draco's eyes darted to the box. _What did Nott have on him? _His fingers weren't working. Harry – _Harry – _he was supposed to hurt Harry?

"What is it?" He whispered, his voice almost broke but he was a Malfoy and he had his dignity when all else was crumbling around him. _Falling. _

"I think that's for us to know, Draco dearest."

His stomach knotted, hurt. He felt sick as his fingers pried the box open.

"Merlin." He shoved it back into Nott's hands just in time to spin away and empty the contents of his stomach.

"_Never let a man buy you diamonds, Draco." _Narcissa's voice echoed from some recess in his head. _"They might look expensive but there's so many on Earth they're barely worth a thing really." _He didn't know why he was thinking about this now, her smiling voice as she carefully lifted the pearl necklace from the velvet box and placed it around her neck, _"If he gives you diamonds, give them back." _

Lucius hadn't understood really, because weren't girls meant to like shiny jewellery? Yet, true to his undying love for Narcissa he had never brought home a diamond and so she had sparkled with emeralds and rubies and pearls and gold wrought so delicately by Goblins it looked like it would collapse at the touch of a fairy. It was perhaps something that no one outside the Malfoy family would ever have noticed, but Narcissa Malfoy knew diamonds were too mainstream and she lingered over each of the jewels that said Lucius had worked hard to find her the perfect piece. He had never settled for something that was guaranteed to please.

That was why, as he collapsed to his knees shaking against the cold stone floor, that Draco recognised the engagement ring in an instant. The perfect white gold filigree ring had a ruby in the centre and shining emeralds to each side of it, as delicate as her hands had been, and in a strange likening to life, with deceiving strength as well.

It had ever been on her finger, and still was.

The blue cushion on which _it_ lay was stained with blood. _Her blood. _

He was barely aware of Crabbe hoisting him to his feet, his fingers trembling as they shoved a wand into his hand.

"How do I know she's alive?" He whispered, drawing himself away from them and onto his own feet.

"Guess you'll just have to trust us."

_What choice did he have?_

Goyle held out his hand, and clasped onto Draco's firmly, as Nott waved his wand and the fiery ropes of magic bound their hands together.

"Do you, Draco Malfoy, swear to lace Harry Potter's drink with the potion we have provided to you every night for the next week?"

Draco's eyes darted to Nott and he shook his head slightly, begging with his eyes. Nott held up the box, closed again, but now he looked closely he could see the dark edges where blood had seeped across it.

"I do." He whispered and the fire flared up against his skin for a moment. He shoved a whimper down before it had the chance to show itself.

"And do you swear that you will make sure every _last _drop is consumed?"

His chest was heaving with hard won breaths, "I do." His voice was wavering.

"And do you swear not to look for the antidote nor provide information enabling others to look for the antidote?"

His mother was captured, tortured. _His mother. _He'd promised his father he'd protect her, swore to him that she would be safe.

Harry or Narcissa. Harry or Narcissa?

It wasn't a choice. Family came first. He answer broke his own heart.

"I do."

"You swear not to speak of this vow with anyone except those who stand within this corridor?"

"I do."

The fire died away and Goyle's hand dropped his like it was burning. A bottle and the box were shoved into his outstretched hand.

Laughter erupted somewhere far away and the three boys who had been there were gone.

He doubled over and dry-heaved, too numb to cry. What had he done?

_What had he done?_

His free hand hit the wall as it searched for support and he collapsed against it, sliding to the floor.

_Breathe. _His mind commanded him sternly. _Breathe. _

He didn't think he knew how to.

_Breathe. _It commanded, mocking him as he clutched the two traitorous items to his chest.

Staring hard at the wall opposite and forcibly shoved himself back together with will-power. His mind cast around looking for answers.

"_A potion is just a puzzle, Draco." _Severus's voice hit his ears and he closed his eyes to draw up the memory, _"If you want to undo it, you have to know it. Study it. Look for the weaknesses and exploit them." _The steady hands had drawn the cauldron to the heat, _"There's nothing that cannot be undone. Mistakes can be rectified; if you mix too much hellebore with your lacewing you can counteract it with a dose of newt's tail. Focus, Draco, you'll need to know this for the future." _

"Look for weaknesses and exploit them." Draco repeated to himself and looked down at the bottle. Calmly he lifted the lid off it and smelt the liquid.

_Exploit them. _

Brushing himself off he sat upright, he had less than five hours until mid-night. Less than five hours to find a place to wiggle out of his vow, or die for failing to fulfil the first night of his vow.

He'd left the Dark Lord's forces to avoid becoming a murderer. His father had died to make sure it didn't happen.

Was this his turn?

_Find the weaknesses. _

Hurting Harry wasn't an option. He made his way towards the Hospital Wing deep in thought, but he was a Slytherin, and he'd be damned if he didn't know how to get out of a vow.

_Exploit them. _

It all sounded so easy when Severus had said it like that.

- TBC -


	12. The Choice He Never Had

_So I don't normally do long A/Ns (forgive me), but I got a question pointing out that in canon Draco is both small and a coward, so I'd like to do that here instead. I had quite a long response explaining my interpretation of the canon, but I realised it's probably not fair to give you guys a small essay instead of a chapter, so I'll briefly summarise. 1. Draco is small: I agree, and to the best of my knowledge, this fic has not explicitly (or implicitly) disagreed. That said: my head-canon is that Draco is taller than Harry because he wasn't malnourished as a child. 2. Draco is a coward: I disagree though I see where you're coming from. The argument that Draco is a coward because JKR calls him a coward is tautological, even if you pull apart his actions I don't think canon!Draco is necessarily a coward. It depends how you look at courage. Your definition will be different, but I _promise _that my Draco isn't going to be the definition of Gryffindor 'Courage' – his courage is quite a different thing. Whether you choose to call it courage as I do is perhaps a matter of opinion and semantics but I do hope I can communicate it as best as I can. _

**Chapter Twelve: The Choice He Never Had**

Five hours had seemed like an agonisingly long time at two in the morning on Draco's ninth birthday. He had been so ready to open presents and celebrate that he'd slipped out of bed and down to hallway to see if his parents were awake yet.

"_No presents until seven o'clock, Draco." _Narcissa had scolded him as she slipped out of bed and settled a silk gown over her long nightdress. _"Go back to sleep, Lucius. I'll settle him." _

Five hours, he had pointed out at the time, was essentially an entire day. How could they possibly expect him to wait all that time? He'd sulked in his bedroom after she'd left and spent an hour staring at the ceiling. It had seemed like _forever. _

Draco stopped at the door of the old potions classroom. He'd come here often in his first year to be alone. It was still as he remembered it. He shouldered into the door and faltered in the doorway. Silence met his hesitance.

Four hours and fifty-nine minutes to go. His wand spelled the countdown onto a wall without permission from his brain. He stared at the dropping numbers with wide eyes. Was it perhaps a little morbid to set the time there ticking away...slipping away from water through fingers, like sand through the hourglass.

Four hours and fifty-eight minutes to go.

Slipping away like hope in the darkness.

He wrenched his eyes from the glowing clock. _Plenty of time. _He scolded himself, but as he carefully set the two items on the desk he couldn't help but glance back at it. As a child he'd watched the clock and wished it to move faster and it had always seemed to slow down to deny him his happiness. Now, as he stood frozen the world seemed to be shifting beneath him.

One bottle filled to the top, clear and innocent like water, he was careful to steady his hands so it wouldn't shatter.

Then the box, it was still closed but when he moved his fingers away they were smudged slightly, dark red already drying against his skin, running along the ridges of his nails and cracking there.

For reasons he couldn't even explain to himself, the thought of washing it away made him nervous.

He carefully pulled a scrap of parchment from the top of the desk, where there were still piled as if awaiting the return of a class after all these years. It took almost three minutes to find the quill hiding in the third drawer down next to an almost empty bottle of ink that was dried and cracked and _absolutely no use at all, DAMMIT! _

The bottle of ink shattered against the wall, raining little shards of glass down the floor with a quiet tinkling. _Broken. _

Four hours and fifty minutes.

He took a deep breath. This was getting ridiculous, he was a wizard. The bottle of ink was summoned in a heartbeat and appeared through the doorway a moment later.

_Must lace Potter's drink with the potion every night for a week (7 nights)_

He stared at the statement as he wrote it. _Harry._ What else had he sworn?

_He must consume every last drop._

He tapped the quill on the parchment. Why hadn't he been paying better attention?

_I can't look for the antidote or give information enabling someone else to look for it._

Antidote was not an option then. The bottle sat on the desk in front of him; he had to resist the urge to knock it off the table.

_Can't speak of the vow with anyway except those in the corridor: Nott, Crabbe and Goyle?_

Unless...? They hadn't said their names, just specified anyone in the corridor, maybe someone else had been there?

The quill broke in his hand, stabbing into his skin and fresh blood mingled with the stains of his mother's pain. He hissed. It stung at his skin and without a second thought he was carefully distilling exactly one seventh of the potion into a small vial from the shelf. Severus would kill him for this, but he lifted it to his nose and took in the scent. It was sweet enough that it made him gag. He'd have to hide it in juice if he wanted Harry to not notice.

If Harry noticed – if Draco couldn't spike his drink every night - Draco would die. He set the vial in his pocket and then hid the larger bottle in the cupboard before spelling it closed.

His head was pounding. Suddenly everything had gotten so stupidly complicated and he couldn't think. _What was he doing? _

He had to save Harry, then save himself, then his mother.

He had a week.

For a moment the empty classroom seemed suffocating.

What if he couldn't save Harry?

What choice did he have? This was his _mother. _

_It's just five hours, Draco. _Her voice whispered in his ear as he had been settled amongst the pillows, and she'd smiled at his pout.

_It'll be gone before you know it. _

OoOoOoO

Harry started awake to find two wide tennis ball eyes fixated on his.

"_Dobby!" _He gasped, "What are you doing here?"

"Mister Harry Potter sir!" Came the elated response, the small elf jumped back to give him room to sit up properly, somewhat surprised he'd fallen asleep. "Dobby is being instructed to make sure Harry Potter is eating."

"Oh," He rubbed a hand across his face, trying to scrub away the stress of this whole disastrous day. "What time is it?"

"Time for eating, Master Harry Potter," Dobby trilled, directing a tray to settle on Harry's lap.

"You know you can call me Harry, right Dobby?" He asked absently, wondering if he could convince the elf to bring him something more fulfilling than a bowl of soup and a goblet of pumpkin juice. Trying not to look too disappointed he idly stirred his spoon through the soup.

A slight whimpering noise drew his attention away from it; Dobby was hunched over at the end of the bed, small hands tugging firmly on his over-sized ears, eyes shining with adoration. "Dobby is calling Mister Harry Potter, sir, Harry, sir?"

"That's what my friends call me?" He offered gently, trying to keep the crocodile tears from getting any more prolific. The poor house elf looked beside himself as he ushered the tray a little closer to his wizard friend – _friend! – _and howled about the "great kindness of Mister Harry Potter sir, Harry!"

"You really should know better by now." An amused voice whispered in Harry's ear, and he turned to see the radiant smile of his best friend's little sister.

"Hey, what are you doing here?" He asked, gently steadying the tray on his lap to stop Dobby from toppling it over in his enthusiasm.

She shrugged, and settled down on the edge of the bed with a kind smile to Dobby. "I noticed Ron and Hermione were arguing so I figured you might be lonely, I can come back later if you're busy?" Her eyes flickered to the soup.

"Oh, no! Stay! Hey, Dobby do you think you could bring this back later? So Ginny and I can chat?"

"Oh, Mister Wizard Friend Harry, sir! It would be Dobby's greatest honour!"

Ginny giggled as the tray and the elf vanished into thin air. "So, _Wizard Friend Harry, _how have you been?"

Harry smiled, and motioned to the room around him, "Feels like I'm finally home."

She laughed, bright and sweet, as she leant down to smooth the covers around him. "You shouldn't joke like that; mum was practically having kittens when she heard what had happened."

It was hard not to be comforted her familiar presence. "How did you break the news?" He asked. He regretted not having the chance to see his family over the summer – and they were. The closest thing to a home away from Hogwarts he'd ever had.

"Ron sent a letter but we think Dumbledore might have gotten there first because she was positively hysterical according to Fred. She was – we _all _were – really worried about you, Harry."

Her sincerity stunned him, even though it really shouldn't have, "I didn't mean to worry you," because he really hadn't. It wasn't _his _fault that the whole damn world was so determined to kill him.

"We know," She said simply, then smiled brightly, "so I think Ron and Hermione are going to kill each other in especially inventive ways this time."

Just like that, the bubbling frustration slipped a little from his mind, because the last time he'd spoken to them his best friends had been close to killing him. "Why's that?"

"Ron was going on about Slytherin being a house of evil, and Hermione said something about Wormtail and then Ron accused her of defending them, and things got ugly from there."

A twinge of guilt tugged at his heart, his best friends were arguing over him. How would they react if he and Draco were really something?

"Anyway," Ginny continued, with a smirk, "Ron told Hermione to stop using - sorry," she snorted into her hands, face reddening, "to stop using such big words to make her point because it didn't make her right._" _Her eyes crinkled at the memory, smirk widening, "Hermione's face was just – _just brilliant_ and then the screaming started. I _shouldn't _laugh, really."

Harry felt a smile forming, tugging at the edges of his lips with persistence.

"Hermione said it wasn't her fault Ron didn't understand them, and then she _threw _her pocket thesaurus at him."

"I wish I'd been there." Harry said wistfully, but he almost didn't really, because if he wasn't here Draco never would have come, and if Draco had never come Harry wouldn't be dreaming of soft lips against his, hesitant but strong.

"It gets better," Ginny promised, "Hermione threatened to defenestrate him and he said -." She dissolved into giggles again, and it was several minutes for her to calm down, "he said that he wished she would but could they go somewhere private first?"

Harry smiled at Ginny's flushed face and wondered what the hell "defenestrate" meant, because it certainly did sound like something you would want to do without witnesses. Still, he couldn't help but laugh at her delight. He suspected Hermione had said it for that exact reason. The purpose was clearly to embarrass Ron but also to get him to admit, however vaguely, that he had feelings for Hermione because despite the clear closeness and the way their fingers would entwine occasionally there was clearly something being left unsaid.

She kissed his cheek when she left with a fond farewell and he wondered if she was still in love with him. His cheek tingled from where her hair had brushed against it, but it wasn't that burning, searing warmth that Draco's hands had left.

No soup could warm him once that thought had settled into his mind.

Was it possible to miss something you hadn't had?

OoOoOoOoO

_One hour and forty minutes. _

The room was thick and heavy with smoke. The cauldrons were simmering still and he hadn't really made progress. He couldn't look for an antidote, so he was determinedly trying not to think of the word at all.

Instead he'd established that the sweet smell was from a plant and that it wasn't a potion _exactly. _It was poison. One he'd never encountered.

He still had no plan what-so-ever.

OoOoOoOoO

Harry was just drifting to sleep when the door to the Hospital Wing creaked open. Struggling to blink the tiredness from his eyes Harry sat upright. A smile slipped onto his face as the soft footsteps brought Draco Malfoy closer to him.

"I didn't expect to see you again today...yesterday? What time is it?"

"Eleven forty-two." Draco looked almost exhausted, but his robes were fresh pressed as they always were and his eyes were bright. "Still struggling with the delicate art of reading time, Potter?"

Harry smiled, "it is difficult," he responded wryly because the day Draco stopped being snarky was the day Harry would send missives to check if the Devil wore ice-skates. He couldn't help but be a little disappointed when Draco didn't smile at his joke. "Draco?"

The Slytherin stood awkwardly at the bed-side. "Harry." He replied calmly, but as the light shifted Harry could see something else in Draco's face, a lingering tension. He'd never realised how expressive eyes could be.

He was struck by the sudden, baffling desire to learn all those little nuances in the porcelain skin and the stormy grey eyes.

"So, you're here." Harry offered, wondering what it meant when Draco nodded before sitting carefully on the chair at his bedside.

"You're so observant, Potter, it's a wonder you're not a spy for Dumbledore." He looked so serious, as he deadpanned, "Truly, these powers of deduction put me at a disadvantage."

"Did Snape teach you to be so snarky?" Harry asked, settling back into the familiar banter, comforted by the fact that apparently Draco wasn't going to change just because they'd shared _something. _"I refuse to believe it's a coincidence."

"It's a natural talent." Draco's smirk didn't change, but it somehow felt more genuine than before.

Harry grinned, impulsively leaning forward a little more, so that their faces were just inches apart. "I'm glad you're back."

_Had he really just said that? _What was he doing exactly? He let himself lean back a little bit, trying to give Draco space. Just because he'd kissed Draco didn't mean they were anything other than friends who happened to have kissed. Maybe they had planned a dinner but it didn't mean a _date. _Merlin, what was Draco going to think?

Not everyone was irresistibly drawn to people they weren't supposed to even be friends with.

"I thought you would be." Draco sounded amused, "You're too easy to predict, Potter."

So he was back to using Potter, instead of Harry. What did _that _mean, exactly?

It wasn't a date clearly. Draco was trying not to lead him on. Merlin, he was so stupid. _Idiot._ He leant back and grasped at something to say. "Do you want a drink or something?"

He'd obviously said something right though, because Draco nodded eagerly and _maybe, just maybe _this wasn't a lost cause.

"Ummm, Dobby?" The words were barely out of his mouth when the small elf that appeared almost in his lap with a slightly alarming grin.

"Mister Harry Potter, friend wizard, sir!"

"Hey Dobby, do you think we could get some hot chocolates?"

"Oh yes, Dobby is wanting to help his friend, Mister Harry Potter sir!"

A slight choking noise brought Harry's attention back to Draco. The Slytherin was rigid, eyes narrowed, staring at the place his former house-elf had been.

"Draco, are you alright?"

"Hot chocolate sounds good."

Thoroughly confused Harry reached for the mugs when the appeared on his bedside table. "It's good." Harry insisted taking a sip of his own before carefully balancing it between his crossed legs so that he could reach towards Draco to offer him the other. Their fingers brushed as the mug slipped from his grasp and he tried not to blush, he was about to withdraw his hand when cool fingers slid around his.

He had been about to mention how thoughtful it was that his mug was red and Draco's was green, to dispel the awkwardness, to think about anything other than how badly he had wanted this since...well he couldn't even pin-point the moment. It felt like forever. He was distracted by the thumb brushing over his.

Hyper aware of the slender fingers as they settled around his palm and brushed over his skin, Harry swallowed, eyes fixing on the flawless hand caressing his.

"I'm sorry," Draco whispered as he slid closer, one hand sliding up to his shoulder.

Harry would have asked why, but Draco's face was inches from him and his brain had decided to vacate the building. Tentatively, he closed the gap, eyes fluttering closed and the world fell away.

Draco shifted, hands leaving his arms for a moment as he stood up, positioning himself to be closer to Harry, but Harry didn't open his eyes for a second because _Draco Malfoy _was kissing him.

The mug between them jostled when Draco leant in a little too far and Harry drew back with a nervous laugh, reaching down to move it away. He was slightly disappointed when Draco simply drew back and returned to his own mug.

"It's been so long since I had hot chocolate from a mug." The young aristocrat admitted before downing the entire contents in one hit.

Harry laughed, because he'd never seen this side of Draco, who was so strange and somehow devastatingly enchanting. He turned back to his own mug and considered the contents as he said "I see you missed it."

"It's bad luck to drink it after midnight," the other boy insisted, "Mother used to say it would give you nightmares, but I suspect now it was to keep me from asking for it after bedtime."

"How long do I have?" He asked, because the topic of Draco's mother was a decidedly uncomfortable one and he wanted Draco to smile again.

"Three minutes." Draco whispered, eyeing the hot chocolate, "Do you need help?" He sounded almost hopeful.

"It's my drink, Draco."

It happened in a split second, Draco's hands had forcibly pulled the mug from Harry's surprised grip and suddenly the hot chocolate was gone.

"You..." Harry gaped, torn between laughing and frowning because Draco didn't exactly look like he was joking. "Why did you do that?"

OoOoOoOoO

With a deep breath, Draco smiled and set the goblet back on the nightstand, trying to ignore Harry's curious stare and slack-jawed expression. He had to leave before it kicked in, whatever _it _was.

Sometimes, courage isn't about standing up for what is right.

Sometimes, it's just about standing up.

It wasn't a choice between Harry and his mother.

It was Harry or _Draco_.

Without a chance meeting in an alleyway, without the surreal comfort of strong arms, without the laughter in an empty classroom, with the stolen kiss in the moonlight Draco would had never have thought about it, but now, it was so clear it wasn't a choice.

There was never a choice to be made.

He was powerless before it.

He made it out of the Hospital Wing and halfway down the hallway before he realised what he'd done.

The Unbreakable Vow hadn't killed him. He'd found the loophole.

He was going to die anyway.

- TBC -

Thank you a thousand times for reading, reviewing, favouriting or following. :) You are my heroes.

I know it's a short chapter but it ended where it felt right and I didn't want to force the story along for the sake of another two pages.


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